Not Dead Yet
by CuriousCrumb
Summary: With a gift bringing hope, comfort and relief, it was only fitting that Gaia bestow a curse of equal measure. A child to reap what it could not. A child born of death's greed and life's carelessness. Fate was rewritten then with the dignified scrawl of an unknown deity. Screaming and kicking at the divine injustice of it all, a new life was born into the world. Reincarnation DarkOC
1. Auxiliary Chapter: Characters

* Alana Hales

The second incarnation of Alexis Crevan born October 3, 1976. Her soul was placed in the incorrect body by Life and fell into the hands of Death who took a liking to it. She has a love for all knowledge, a grudge against Death and a hatred for black-and-white thinking. Has an owl named Auxillium.

* Johnathon Hales

Alana's drunkard father who is exceptionally bright but suffers severe social anxiety.

* Katherine Hales

Alana's mother who developed a drug addiction at an early age. Her unplanned pregnancy only worsened her state.

* Jake Matthews (H)

Alana Hales' first and closest childhood friend. A high-performing student, loyal friend and well-behaved son.

* Christian Matthews

Jake Matthews father and ex-karate sensei. He frequently goes on monthly business trips but still finds the time to teach his beloved son. His wife divorced him some years ago.

* Vincent de Azrael

A many centuries-old vampire that has taken a liking to Alana's blood.

* Roul Cruz

A veteran wand for hire and jack of trades. Be it theft, sabotage, murder or counselling this mercenary is your man.

* Greyson Harper

An untrusting American who had his life-savings stolen and resorted to thieving to pay the bills. The young man has a gift in the art of forgery and curse breaking

* Marius Mardare

A vampire sired by Vincent de Azrael many years ago. He separated from the man to join a coven in Romania as a lower member and has the appearance of a nineteen year old.

* Otavio Russo

A slim, sharp featured and rather serious Italian vampire with an interest in politics and creature relations. He was recently selected to establish a new coven in Britain.

* Raymond

Possibly Britain's most skilled wand for hire. This werewolf has the uncanny ability to recognise any disguised person. He had grey eyes, dark hair and a muscular build.

* Lilith Bathery

A blond haired, blue eyed veela. Or is she? This espionage specialist makes a killing selling information as well as stolen goods. It's best not to trust her even if you have a knife to her neck.

* Willow

A seemingly permanent fixture at Harkey's, this barmaid enjoys watching Alana make a fool of herself.

* Rienne

One of the vampires making up the council of the Apuseni coven in Romania. She is a skilled fighter famed for ripping her victims in half when angered.

* John Dawlish

A capable, tough-looking wizard willing to go to morally-questionable lengths to fulfill his job as an auror. He is level-headed and fearless during conflicts but susceptible to the confundus charm and mind arts.

* Charlotte Winters (R)

A purple-eyed brunette with a slim build and love of charms and runes. Her parents are both purebloods involved in the fur trade though not of the sacred twenty-eight.

* Lola Pierce (H)

A blue-eyed, blond witch in Hufflepuff with a love of history despite having professor Binns as a teacher. She does not qualify as a pureblood despite both parents being wizards.

* Leoen Volkov (R)

Leoen is the youngest of two children with no obvious feelings toward his family's profession. Most steer clear of the boy due to his brother and family's reputation. The Volkov are a renowned family of hunters in Russia though they are hired internationally at times by various ministries. Has a messenger owl named Zayla.

* Lucian Bole (S)

A blonde Slytherin from a branch of the Malfoy family. He is terrified of Leoen and finds muggle-borns dirty as they don't use grooming spells. He is best friends with Peregrine Derrick.

* Terrence Bagnold (R)

The King of the Nest during Alana's first two years and an inspiring public speaker much like his aunt Millicent Bagnold, the predecessor of Minister Cornelius Fudge. His sense of humour is lacking.

*The Nest

Lead by Esme Reed, this network of hags was established by Alana Hales whilst looking for a job.

* Gaia

The cosmic force which perpetuates change in the cosmos. Responsible for the creation and destruction of universes as well as immortal souls.

* Death

The high tier deity who reaps the souls of the dead. Known for his less friendly creations and tendency to play with the souls he reaps, Death is almost always accompanied by an entourage of Chaos, Pain and Decay.

* Life

Another high tier deity known for their expertise in the creation of soul containers and most species of nature. Generally taciturn in nature, Life is also responsible for placing the souls of Gaia's children in their correct worlds.

* Fate

A powerful deity with a habit of rolling dice. She identifies as a female and has a penchant for gambling. Fate considers herself superior to Life and Death but keeps her views quiet. She finds Alana disappointing.

* Merlot

One of Gaia's children crafted with an immortal soul and bonded to Life. He died at an old age in his first life and appears as an old man in Gaia's sanctuary.


	2. Auxiliary Chapter: Time Line

**VOLUME 1**

October 3, 1976 - Alana Hales is born

1981 January - Alana's mind stabilises at age 4

1982 November - A month after father's death Alana starts school

1982 December - Alana meets Jake Matthews

1983 January - Alana is given a violin by Mrs Linda

1983 March - Alana starts official karate lessons under Mr Matthews

1983 May - Katherine Hales' condition worsens

October 3, 1983 - Alana's 7th birthday she receives her triskelion

1983 November - Alana has discovered a stalker, crafted her basic Mindscape and Capricorn I created

1984 January - Capricorn II

1984 March - Inventory system Aquarius is created

1984 May - Child services, Capricorn III, Aquarius II

1984 August- Katherine Hales' death

1984 October - Alana meets Vincent de Azrael at age 8

1984 December -Azrael invites Alana to live with him

1985 November - Capricorn IV, Aquarius III, Pisces I created

1985 December - Knockturn Alley with Azrael

1986 February - Alana meets Roul

1986 November - Alana steals from the Ashworth Summer Estate, Pisces II

1987 January - The Hit on Archie Tryce and the formation of The Nest

1987 March - Hit on Italian Nicholas Borges

1988 April - France, Aquarius IV, Pisces III

1988 May - Germany, Gregorovitch, Capricorn V and Illegimency

1988 July - The Romanians and Azrael's death

1988 August - Destruction of the Wallachia Coven

1989 August - The Italian Otavio Russo arrives in Britain

**VOLUME 2**

1990 August - John Dawlish, The Ministry of Magic and the introduction of Alana Vincent

1990 September - The train to Hogwarts, the reappearance of Jake Matthews and Ravenclaw sorting. Leoen Volkov and first classes

1990 October - Capricorn V, Aquarius IV, Pisces III. The Potion Book, Fencing Club and Samhain

1990 November - Astronomy Lesson

1990 December - Yule with Otavio, hunting with Raymond

1991 January - Alana explains her 'job'

1991 March/April - Chiara Lobosca and Nymphadora Tonks

1991 June - The salamander incident and the Weasley twins. Capricorn V, Aquarius IV, Pisces IV.

1991 July - The final feast, the Goblin bank and the brawl on wolfsbane

1991 August - Lilith Bathery and the Werewolf pack


	3. 1) Where To Begin

**October 3, 1976**

The summer heatwave of 1976 was one of the worst weather phenomena in history to hit the British Isles. Much like a certain child, it was unexpected and unwanted. With it came record high temperatures and the worst drought to be seen in over 200 years. September brought an end to the heat with cold rains which soothed hardened fields and tired hearts. Rain brought hope, relief, and comfort, and with those blessings, it was only fitting that the Earth bestow a curse of equal measure. A child to reap what it could not. A child born of life's end and death's beginning. The night of October 3 was rewritten with the dignified scrawl of an unknown deity. Screaming and kicking at the divine injustice of it all, a new life was born into the world. Out of the frenzied passions of a drunkard and drug addict from the shadowed back streets of London came Alana Hales. Out of the tattered folds of deaths cloak came the worn soul of one Alexis Crevan.

**1981**

He had named her Alana, her father, that is. The name had tumbled thickly off his tongue in rough Irish syllables wrapped with the strong stench of alcohol. The meaning of the name was mocking in its tenderness. 'Precious child,' he intoned as though a foreign language could mask the lie.

A four-year-old Alana grimaced, her small fingers tugging at the russet carpet beneath her. Her situation was unprecedented, a fate utterly detestable to any sane, logical being. Reincarnation. She continued to lament her situation with tired, honey eyes. There was an unshakeable feeling of not belonging that clung to her developing mind and a sense of wrongness that settled into her bones with every breath. It permeated her every thought, overflowing like blood from a gaping wound. Her mind was a shamble of half-baked ideas and broken memories.

The first few years of her new existence had consisted of periods of all-encompassing darkness. Aeons spent in a haze of sensory shutdown were later dispersed by rarer moments of acute clarity. Those had become more frequent as the days, months and years passed. It should have been considered a miracle, she supposed, but with clarity came uneasiness and increasing awareness of the circumstances she had been born into.

Her father, Johnathan Hales, was a quiet man, contrary to her original thoughts. He was fair-skinned and chubby with light brown pebbles for eyes and a mop of greasy, black hair. Thick, metal glasses framed his eyes, shielding them from the outside world. He seldom spoke more than a few words to anyone. Instead, he seemed content to sit in front of the television shouting the answers to game show questions at the pixelated screen. His mind was brilliant. She had spent days watching him effortlessly answer difficult quiz questions without so much as a pause in his speech. Her initial surprise, however, had long since given way to pity as it had become clear that the man's intelligence was vastly overshadowed by his social impairment. Johnathan Hales could barely make it past the front door most days. He flinched at sudden noises and skittered away from the conversation before it could even be initiated. It made the small effort he made for her all the more significant in her eyes.

He would sit her in his lap and spin stories of ancient civilisations and forgotten lands. With a silver tongue and broad smile, he would offer them to his young daughter as though expecting her to understand his advanced vocabulary. She embraced each word tenderly. Some stories she had heard before in half-forgotten memories and hazy dreams. It was a past life that flashed behind her thin eyelids when a silence lasted too long. There were visions of beautiful artworks and complex constructions, faceless people and unknown places. Perhaps it was a mother, a father, a brother? Hers or another's? She could not tell for sure. That in itself may have been a mercy. She could not even recall how she had died and only knew with absolute certainty that it had been painful, ugly and horrible. Then, there was nothingness, emptiness, a void without meaning or time. The darkness had consumed her and embraced her tenderly all at once pulling her existence thin only to twist it in another direction when it refused to break. Was she supposed to break? She had asked herself that question far too many times.

"Alana," her mother crouched before her small form with blond hair in disarray. "Come to momma, sweety."

The voice was as alluring as fingernails on a chalkboard to the perfect pitch ears of an infant, but Alana complied nonetheless. It was one of the few times her mother was not high on heroin after all. It was to be celebrated. Katherine's gentle eyes were trained on her daughter with an intensity only newly made mothers had. She watched as the girl picked herself off the filthy carpet and toddled closer. Tiny fingers wrapped around the woman's bony wrist, followed by a silent, knowing gaze. There was no judgment in those young eyes, just a tired acceptance as she was led to the kitchen for lunch by shaking hands. Her mother would be using again by the end of the week despite her efforts to come off the drug. Alana would make the most of her time with her.

**1982 November**

Alana's father died shortly after she turned six. She had watched her mother deteriorate for another month before the woman gathered the wits to send her daughter off to primary school. It was a late enrollment, but Charton's accepted the child with little complaint as expected of the low decile school. The elderly next-door neighbour, Linda, had assumed the role of pseudo mother in Katherine's stead. Alana had little complaint about the arrangement considering it acceptable, if not better than it had been previously. It was undoubtedly a step up in terms of hygiene as Linda allowed the small girl to make use of her apartment's shower once a week. Their own apartment's shower had long since rusted from lack of maintenance. It also didn't help that her mother regularly forgot to pay the bills.

Alana trudged the concrete pavement that led to school slowly with wandering eyes. Her class was the first door on the right of the corridor, and she took a seat with little preamble. A few children leaned away from her person with scrunched up noses. It had been a while since she had washed her clothes. The thought was fleeting for the girl and disappeared as soon as it appeared.

"Forget to wash again, Alana O'smelly?"

She didn't grace the voice with a reaction. The taunts were always immature, and she had long determined it best to treat them as just that.

_'I see you forgot your manhood again, Donald. Or have you found a way to make it invisible in those tight jeans?'_ Alana cursed him in her head before sighing inwardly and gently chastising herself. '_Down, girl. He wants you to fight back. Don't lose the war in exchange for a single battle.'_

"Looks like you've finally gone deaf like that old man of yours huh, O'smelly? You gonna kick the bucket too?"

_'Empty words. They are empty words.'_ She repeated her mantra, silently biting back a scathing reply. Beneath the tangled and possibly nit-infested mess that was her hair, she eyed the boy. He was at least two years her senior as were all the kids in her class. She had been moved up a year though it hardly made any difference except to increase the antagonism towards her. She bit back a growl as he reached for her jumper and dragged her light body out of the seat.

The form teacher was always late on Friday mornings.

The boy shoved her to the ground with a laugh and dropped two pence by her face.

"I suppose you can't afford a shower.' Beggars shouldn't be choosers right, O'smelly?" He jeered as her hand snatched the coin off the ground.

_'Damn right, you little punk.'_ Alana resisted the urge to through the conveniently sized projectile at the brat's square face. If she was lucky, it would break his glasses lens and puncture his eyeball. '_Maybe another day_,' she thought as the form teacher chose that moment to grace the class with her presence.

"Miss Hales, please remove yourself from the floor." Alana sighed once more. At least she had gotten two pence out of the morning.

**1982 December**

Six was decidedly Alana's unlucky number and a horrible age for a child of her stature. She gazed at the schoolyard bully with a deadpan expression as he tripped over his shoelaces and proceeded to blame her for his poor coordination. She was, apparently, an all omnipotent being with super magical powers that could trip him up while standing several metres away.

_'Honestly, do people just have a natural hatred toward me? Is it because I di…'_ Her mind swerved reflexively to avoid the topic. That was a dark well of depression she had no interest in jumping headfirst into. She had tried that once, and it had not ended well.

By the time she reconnected with reality, she had found her face pressed against the sweet, dirty, unsanitary ground. Her eyes teared up. She just had her weekly shower that morning.

_'You monster! How could you betray me so, dear bully-san?! Your usual beat up was scheduled two days forward.'_ Alana wiped her tears with a sniffle then used the damp sleeve to clean the muck off of her soft-featured face.

"Oi! What the hell do you think you're doing?!"

The next thing she knew, bully-san was being acquainted with her dearest friend 'la floor', and she was being picked up and guided to the other side of the schoolyard. Alana turned slightly to get a look at her apparent rescuer as annoyance, gratitude and suspicion warred in the back of her consciousness. Black hair combed back from black eyes, tidy clothes, above-average height. She shifted to her right with eyes narrowed in concentration as she appraised the boy. Well-built, trained even. The grip on her hand tightened before releasing her as she made to pull away. Her gaze dropped to her shoes in a show of submission as old as time itself.

"Thank you," she mumbled awkwardly. It was the first time she'd had to thank someone other than Linda she realised with no small trepidation. She disliked the thought of being in yet another person's debt.

"You're that kid that was moved up a few years, right? I'm Jake Matthews. I got moved up a year as well; otherwise, I'd be in your year level." He introduced himself easily while shaking her hand. The action caused the girl to blanch for a few seconds. '_What sort of eight-year-old shakes hands so professionally? Better yet, wherein the seven hells had this kid been hiding this past month?'_

"Alana Hales. Nice to meet you," she smiled politely.

"You really should fight back. That bully's never going to back off if you don't." She gave him a careful look as she considered her response.

"There is no point in fighting back once if I can't beat him badly enough that he'll never try again," she explained slowly with mild embarrassment that she was even trying to explain her actions to a child. It would be a wonder if Matthews could understand her words at all. "Fighting is just asking for trouble, and I doubt a teacher would take my side if push comes to shove." The small frown that appeared on her face could have earned the pity of any adult had she cultivated the skill.

Matthews gave the short girl an indecipherable smile and patted her head. She tilted it in question, but he only shook his head in an almost friendly manner.

"Come sit with me at lunch sometime. My dad used to teach martial arts ya know so I can maybe teach you a thing or two." Her eyes widened at the offer.

"A-Alright," Alana answered somewhat in shock as she stared at his departing back. She had forgotten what it was like to have a civil conversation. Hell, Alana had forgotten what it was like to feel human. Now that she had remembered what it tasted like… She didn't think she could willingly part with it.


	4. 2) The Magic Number 7

**1983 January**

Alana gingerly lifted the violin she had been eyeing from Linda's rough hands. Her six-year-old fingers trembled over its smooth texture. Who would have thought she would find such a treasure while cleaning Linda's cupboards?

"Are you sure I can have it?" she asked while stroking the wood reverently. It was likely worth more than everything she owned combined.

"My mother forced me to learn as a child, and I haven't touched it since. If you like it so much, then I'm sure you'll do it justice." The white-haired lady gave the small girl a wrinkled but kind smile.

Alana's eyes moistened with gratitude as she grinned. She was such a sucker for the bubbly, old woman. "I'll do my best to make you proud, Aunt Linda," she chirped excitedly. Her hands brushed the wood feverishly. Something that she could call her own and if she got good enough, she might one day be able to try her hand at busking to earn some money. Her eyes were determined with renewed purpose and resolve. She had the drive, so she was halfway there.

**1983 March**

A honey-eyed, black-haired midget fidgeted nervously in front of the well-built house of one Jake Matthews. Said delinquent took the liberty of flicking her forehead in an attempt to stop the girl's constant twitching.

"Relax, Alana. You look like you're about to get interrogated," he said with an exasperated huff.

"Does your dad know you're bringing a girl home?" She shot back defensively.

"Nah! I'm cool like that." He grinned, and she paled. "I'm joking, of course! I told him that I'm bringing my cute little bestie home. What do you take me for? Some ruffian off the street? I am a gentleman," he puffed his chest out proudly.

"Could have fooled me with that ego," Alana grumbled petulantly and watched with hidden satisfaction as he deflated dramatically.

"You're so mean to me," he pouted. "That means you like me, right?" His pout switched to a sly grin as he teased her.

She whacked his head and rolled her eyes before schooling her expression. "Yes. I'm head over heels for your awesomeness." She replied with a monotone voice and expressionless face. She walked past him before he could fire a comeback and knocked on his front door. She had washed her hair and clothes, especially for this magnificent day and would mutilate her best friend if he dared do anything weird in front of his dad. The door soon opened, and she was greeted with a carbon copy of Jake. Indeed this apple did not fall far from the tree.

"You must be Alana," Mr Matthews greeted with a small grin before welcoming both children inside.

"Nice to meet you, Mr Matthews." She greeted him politely.

"You as well. Jake talks about you a lot. It's great to see him with such a sensible friend." Alana coughed a bit at the description. What sort of things had Jake been telling his old man?

"He mentioned you were interested in martial arts?" Alana's eyes darted to the adult so quickly she could have sworn she heard her neck click. This guy… Wasn't he too straightforward?! Could this be the legendary cool dad figure? Her starry eyes appraised his casual attire and worn appearance. He looked more tired than cool. She frowned, a bit disappointed, and nodded in reply to his question.

"I'm fine with having you over to practice on the weekends with Jake as long as your guardian approves and you don't go beating up random brats at school, yeah?" Mr Matthews raised an eyebrow in her direction.

She clasped her fist in a formal bow with a grin that lit up her face. "Hai, Sensei!"

**1983 May**

Alana opened the apartment door with a smile as memories from her recent training session filtered through her mind. It was hard work, but the rewards were exhilarating. Her diet had changed recently to support the increased physical activity, and she found herself eating with aunt Linda more often than not. On that topic, her violin lessons were also coming along quite nicely. She had finally found the motivation to visit the public library and found herself with more than just music books when she returned.

She was pretty sure she gave the librarian a scare considering she was a six-year-old issuing history books. The woman's face had been a cross between horror and fascination at the thickness of the published works. She vaguely remembered liking history and mathematics in her previous life, though she couldn't recall why exactly. Maybe she had been a masochist. She had a thirst for knowledge, that was for certain, but her motivation for liking the subjects seemed to have more to do with curiosity than any serious commitment to the fields. It was difficult to imagine seriously enjoying mathematics if she were perfectly honest. She had just been finishing her high school education when she… passed on… so there were definite gaps in her knowledge. She still had a rather solid foundation, however, and to work her way up from that was a realistic goal.

She paused in the doorway as she heard the sound of retching from the bathroom. Putting her meagre belongings down, she slowly approached the toilet and called out to her no doubt inebriated mother.

"Mum? I'm coming in alright," she spoke softly but loud enough for the woman to hear. She heard a sob in reply. The form hunched over the toilet bowl made no movements as she approached and laid a hand on its shoulder. Pulling her mother's hair back, she began to rub soothing circles on her back. Katherine continued to vomit into the toilet with abandon. A syringe lay abandoned on the sink. Her latest dose of drugs with unknown additives no doubt.

"Johnathon? Is that you? Don't worry about me," she slurred drunkenly. Alana sighed and wondered where her mother had hidden the alcohol bottles. "I need you to check up on sweet Alana. She should be home soon."

The young girl stared impassively at the familiar display where she once would have turned away from the intimacy of it. It wasn't her place to judge, but neither should it have been a six-year-olds responsibility to piece together a broken parent. Her mother soon slipped off into oblivion again, leaving her to guide an empty shell back into the bedroom.

"Goodnight," She smoothed her mum's hair one last time before making her way to her own bed.

**October 3, 1983**

"Once I was seven years old my momma told me, go make yourself some friends, or you'll be lonely," Alana hummed the lyrics of the old and in actuality, still unwritten song absentmindedly as she skimmed a rather steamy French novel she'd found in the children's section of the library. Tsk. Tsk. They really should be more careful when categorising books. I mean, any innocent child could pick up this smut by accident. She paused at a rather vivid description and chuckled at the author's word choice. French translated rather interestingly at times. Her eyes flicked to the clock, 10:39 pm it said in red digital figures.

"Officially seven years old now." She smiled angelically with only the empty air as her witness and tucked the book away for the night. Seven was a sacred number in most religions if she recalled correctly. She rubbed her eyes tiredly, flicking them to the clock once more. Still 10:39. She wondered what fresh brew of chaos tomorrow would bring.

Still 10:39. Still 10:39. It had been five minutes at least. Did she break the clock? She cocked her head inquisitively and searched the rest of the room for possible answers to her dilemma. The room was empty as always, messy and cold. It was also dark, darker than it had been some minutes ago and getting darker. She breathed out heavily and watched the air before her fog up. Something was wrong. She felt her breath hitch at the realisation, and she slowly brought her knees up to her chest. Her heart was thumping loudly in her chest. That was wrong, even more wrong. You weren't supposed to hear the sound of your own heart. An unnatural coldness was seeping into her bones, but her efforts to shout for help were silenced as her throat was gripped by an unknown force.

_'I don't want to die. I don't want to die.'_ Her eyes slammed shut as panic paralysed her body. She knew this feeling. She knew this emptiness that crawled down her oesophagus and into her lungs. '_Stop it. Stop it! Stop it!'_ Her screams went unheard as the bittersweet absence of everything overtook her.

...

Fire. It burned the back of her throat like hot oil, and she swiftly tipped a bottle of water down her throat. Her fingers flew across lettered keys as she decimated each enemy within her computer screen's view. Long, mocha fingers danced a quick tango to an invisible rhythm, and another casualty was added to her name.

"Oi! Alexis calm it down over there! You might traumatise the players with your genius. Hahaha! It's a computer game, girl! No need to take it so seriously, yeah?"

The brunette grinned cockily at the red-haired girl next to her. "If you can't handle the heat get out of the kitchen," she purred as she sent yet another guild to the resurrection point. The world around her began to spin.

"Hey, big sis? You know how you're super smart and stuff?"

"What do you want?" Alexis asked her younger brother with taunting eyes. The boy was far too obvious when he wanted something.

"Mum says I need someone to supervise me if I want to go to the park," he explained with pleading gestures and a childish pout that only a wimp would fall for.

"Hmm…" She dragged out his anticipation, "Alright." Her vision tilted.

"Alexis, can you go grab your siblings and tell them we're having dinner," her mother called from over a campsite stove. She nodded distractedly and bookmarked the page of her novel before beginning the mission of finding her dearest siblings. Mission impossible when they were concerned. The surrounding forest was not too dense and gave way as she pushed past the leafy foliage in the direction of the nearby river. She never found them.

There was pitch black nothingness from which a cold hand withdrew the essence of a withered being.

"At peace, child." The touch was featherlight and more energy than matter as it manoeuvred her soul into its new container. Its voice was ancient, decaying and growing at the same time. It carried anger and betrayal, defiance and resignation in its tone. She clung to the coldness in confusion, not wanting to part so soon. Did it no longer care for her? The being caressed the wisp of life in response to the thought before releasing it softly. "Not yet," it sang with amusement.

...

The world finally righted itself with a sudden jerk. Alana's eyes snapped open, her heart racing and mind disorientated from the visions. Gilded halls of white marble and stone greeted her eyes. The darkness and cold seemed a bitter memory replaced with soft candlelight, lush carpets and intricate tapestries.

"You are home," the words jolted Alana, no Alexis, from her reverie. She whirled her head around much to the protest of her stiff limbs. The tall figure smiling down at her sitting body caused her eyes to widen in alarm. She was quick to stand in an attempt to create some distance between herself and the unknown person.

"Who are you?" She asked the man, gruffly. He was old with messy hair greying at his temples and a short beard that housed a secretive smile. His eyes were an electric blue that brimmed with life and energy. His smile though was his most noticeable feature, giving off some serious paedophile vibes with its creepy grandfatherliness.

"Nought but a child of Gaia as you are."

"I said who not what," She snapped back. Her reacquired memories burned uncomfortably in her throat. "Where am I?"

"Purgatory." There was no malice in the voice.

"I… died… again?" She trembled slightly at the thought. Seven years was all she had to that existence. What a joke.

"No, but you may wish you had," the man spoke with a pitying glance. "Come." He was already moving before she could answer, and she was forced to follow with no small amount of trepidation. The man was obviously insane, though to what degree she had yet to determine. Her skin felt too thin in this place, as though she could leave her body at any moment. It was uncomfortable.

"My name is Merlot; however, you may call me Uncle if you wish. Your brethren do." His words were followed by an uneasy silence as the two wove through a series of passages.

"Why am I here?" Alana finally relented. She sighed tiredly and felt his gaze on her. She did not care to meet it and instead glanced at one of the tapestries covering the wall. It seemed to depict the three fates with one of the Moirai in the process of cutting a thread. A lovely thought.

"You were not able to come here at the right time. So, we made time."

"We?" She caught up to him as he opened the final door. Her questions were forgotten as the air left her lungs for a good few minutes. The room itself was gargantuan, but that was not what captivated her, nor was it the allure of the architecture. What held her attention was the books upon books stacked on branching shelves which reached up a seemingly impossible distance with no ceiling in sight. The focus of the room was a sunken, circular seating area.

"Welcome to Gaia's Sanctuary, or her Library, if you prefer," Merlot signalled the girl to follow him into the centre of the space where a bonsai tree sat perched on a small pedestal above a calm moon pool.

"This is our worlds tree," he gestured grandly at the small pot plant. His eyes were once again twinkling madly as though the plant held the secrets of the universe.

"It appears to be rather small," Alana commented with an embarrassed cough. Very small, in fact. Maybe it was bigger on the inside or something? "Wait a minute, you said worlds as in plural." She pinned that man with a dissecting gaze that had once made her siblings spill their treacherous guts in submission. Even if he was crazy, that was a bit strange.

"Indeed. Have a look for yourself." He gestured towards the water. She grimaced as she edged closer and peered down. Past the surface of the water was a network of roots that seemed to have woven themselves deep below the library. In the curls of these roots were small pockets of swirling matter no bigger than marbles. They came in a variety of shapes and colours with some appearing to stretch and twist in the water. She tilted her head in fascination. There was an almost ethereal beauty to the small beads of life. They seemed to have a gravity of their own that pulled uncomfortably at her chest. She came to her senses just in time to retract the arm that had unknowingly reached out to touch the water. She cast the old man a glance.

"These are…"

"Worlds or rather, dimensions."

"And you…"

"Keep track of them, of course. As Gaia's children, it is our responsibility to record the history of each and every world as well as ensure their continuous cycle of creation and destruction." She stared at the man with an unreadable expression.

"Assuming that I believe you, which I don't, why and how are you Gaia's 'children'? I don't suppose you mean Gaia as in the personification of Earth in Greek mythology? How many of you are there? You said I was one of you, but how would I know? How would you know? How on earth did I get dragged into this?" The last question was growled with arms clenched tightly at her waist to quell the need to gesture wildly at the offending surroundings. Merlot took a seat on the pool's edge with his weathered features turning pensive.

"Gaia has created 42 of us, including you. I say created using the loosest definition of the word as Gaia is not conscious in the traditional sense but rather a force which perpetuates change in the cosmos. She, or He if you like, crafts our souls from her own immortal essence and the remnants of dying worlds. Our souls cannot be consumed or destroyed by any deities. Even in the face of Death, our souls merely bind to a new body for the next lifetime, slipping between worlds like water through rocks." Alana listened with clenched fists remembering the feeling of her soul being stretched in the void and the voice that had lulled her into contentment.

"What happened to my soul when I died?" She asked quietly.

The look he shot her was hesitant, to say the least, but he continued nonetheless.

"To my knowledge, your soul was not placed in the correct body by the presiding deity of life when you were born, and you were reaped by death at the end of your lifetime. He recognised your soul as immortal and chose to keep it for his own… entertainment. He seems to have nominated himself as your patron deity."

He quickly explained, "A Deity is the physical manifestation and personification of a widely held belief. They may choose to bind their existence to a child of Gaia and become that child's Patron for the length of their existence. As their Patron, they are obligated to supervise every world their child travels to and have a claim to the time their child spends between worlds. Deities depend on the belief of mortal souls and the consumption of lesser deities to exist. This is why weaker deities may make a deal to bind to a child and have them gather believers on their behalf. Stronger deities are less likely to bind but can do so without a child's permission. Once bound, should a deity be consumed by a stronger one their child also ceases to exist and returns to Gaia to be recrafted."

Alana stared at the man for several minutes as she processed the information in all of its detail. Her inner dialogue was decidedly not as still as her body. _I got soul bonded to death because he likes stretching my soul out like bungee gum! Curse that bastard and his bloody, cold existence!_ Her mind flailed like a pile of wailing goo.

"Just how long am I going to live? I'm assuming that Death is a rather strong deity," She asked nervously. The pity in Merlots gaze had returned with a vengeance.

"An immortal soul can live forever in a cycle of reincarnation. As for Death's lifespan, my own patron is Life who exists in all worlds, much like your own. Suffice to say…"

"I have essentially guaranteed immortality," Alana closed her eyes to regain her bearings. The room was silent, but if you listened very carefully, you could hear the sound of her sanity breaking. She rubbed the heels of her palms into her eyes and glared at the marble flooring. A deep breath and she shoved all her animosity out in one long exhale. How did that quote go again?

_'Holding onto anger is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die.'_

She could hardly expect Gaia or Death to spontaneously combust, so she had no other choice but to let it go if she wished to live with any semblance of contentment. She was no Sasuke Uchiha. Revenge was too taxing and futile in this case.

That was not to say that she wouldn't give the primordial beings a piece of her mind should she ever encounter them.

"Forever is an awfully long time," Alana chuckled, obviously disarming Merlot with her calmness. He quickly regained enough sense to pat her on the back supportively.

"You are not alone, dear Alexis. Deities are long-lived, especially those with the strength to force a soul bond on our kind."

She nodded numbly at the words. Reincarnation was indeed a curse. To be reborn endlessly into world after world by the will of a higher force. Was that not a type of torture in and of itself? She supposed that she now at least had the small mercy of knowing how she came to be. Not many would be so blessed.

"Is there anything else? Rules? Punishments?" She inquired half-heartedly. Merlot nodded approvingly before reaching for her hand and baring the girl's wrist alongside his own. A black triskelion appeared.

"This is your memory log. It records the world around you to update the library. Memories are blanked after each life, and it usually takes an exceptionally strong emotional trauma to unlock them. When this happens, the memory of your first visit to the sanctuary will return while the others," he tapped her wrist, "Are optional to remember. Though, I should warn you that it is an all or nothing choice. You either remember every past life or none at all." Alana nodded at the logic. With so many lives, it was unlikely that they would all be pleasant to remember in such detail. From what she could tell, the mark basically ensured an eidetic memory.

"The rules are more unspoken than official and flexible to circumstances. No destroying the world or breaking dimensions, no doing anything which would endanger another child of Gaia in the future and no holding grudges against another child should you encounter one during your reincarnation. I cannot speak of punishments, but your deity has a certain measure of power over you, so you'd best take care. This library holds the worlds of every book ever written, every story ever told, every script ever thought of and every dream ever dreamt. There are the paths to different worlds where realms have brushed against each other and others warred for centuries. It is sacred to us, our home and point of reincarnation," he smiled and released her hands.

"I do believe our time is up. I will see you in the next life perhaps, young Alexis." Just like that, the world went dark again.


	5. 3) Change Is Inevitable

You would think that such a mind-blowing revelation would change a person.

You would be wrong.

Alana woke in a cold sweat in the same decrepit apartment she had fallen asleep in. It changed nothing. She refused to let it change anything. A shaky hand brushed away the dark locks plastered to her forehead. She had answers, but they would not affect her situation in life. It was, however, depressing to know she had a sad mockery of immortality to look forward to at the end of the line and a darker still companion awaiting her return. She drew herself up and shoved the clammy blankets from her form. There would be no more sleep for her this night.

**1983 November**

The once-forgotten sense of wrongness had returned tenfold, and with it, the increased irritation of her peers. Alana drew the violin bow over its strings smoothly to end her rendition of F. Kreisler's Praeludium et Allegro. A smattering of polite applause was heard and the jingle of a handful of coins hitting one another before the crowd dispersed. She split the money swiftly into thirds and handed a portion to the homeless man who had claimed her current busking spot a few years back. It was the equivalent of paying the landlord and had quickly become a routine for her. The man scowled at her and shooed the girl along as soon as he had his money. She would be back in a few days of course.

Alana picked her way through the crowds with quiet agility and a violin case in hand. She had enough to cover the month's bill if her mother pulled through with her job at the grocery store. The chances were rather slim, but a girl could hope. Her sharp eyes searched the streets before she ducked through a short alleyway. These areas were as familiar to her as the stale apartment back home, so she held little fear.

A prickling on the back of her neck and she ducked out of the alley. It was not the first time she had been watched after playing with such intensity. Unfortunately, the perpetrator was more slippery than an eel and just as difficult to catch. The girl spun and made her way home with haste.

Aunt Linda was out as usual at this time of the day, and she quickly took the woman's rubbish outside to the bins before entering her own door. The smell of vomit and faeces assaulted her nostrils. The young girl flicked her gaze around the room with little reaction. It seemed her mother had forgotten to clean in the week she had stayed at Jake's house. Unsurprising but no less disappointing. Alana swept past the grime and decay with practised ease to enter her room and place her violin down. Her bed was a layer of library books and dust lit by the setting sun. A few unread novels lounged temptingly on a nearby chair. She was more than happy to indulge in her pastime, even at the cost of trauma at the hands of a paperback. Settling down on the floor, she leaned back against the bed with a short sigh. Despite the apartment's state, it was still home to her.

Her thoughts travelled to her wrist and the triskelion that lay dormant there. Her theories regarding its use had been proven correct. She had gained an eidetic memory, her very own mind palace. Even Sherlock would be envious of her newfound gift. Alana folded her legs on the musty carpet and fell into an easy meditative trance lulled by the pull of her mark.

She had long since established that her mind was a strange place. Inside was a library much smaller than the sanctuary but no less mesmerising. Warm, thick carpets covered walnut wood floors while the walls were either aesthetically panelled or dominated by large bookshelves. In the seating area, a large orrery rotated, its planets suspended over a circular fountain where the worlds tree might have sat. Although the tree was absent, Alana knew its roots remained deep within the waters hiding those precious memories of her first life. All the shelves except one were filled with empty books waiting anxiously to be filled with knowledge. She had crafted the place by hand over the last month as the triskelion had continued to throb in its incomplete state. Each delicate touch had woven her soul into the place until she knew each detail and crevice as intimately as her own essence. Yet it still took her breath away to see it.

Chemistry, history, political science, philosophy, mathematics, French. Hell, she had even tossed a book on Yoga on the shelf. Organising the seemingly random assortment of knowledge was a work in progress, but she had eventually achieved some semblance of order. In all honesty, organising was more difficult than understanding the subject itself. This was mostly because the library recorded experiences more easily than thoughts and made no distinction between the subjects of either. She really had to make the process more autonomous. She had fantasised the creation of a servant to do the job but had yet to learn how to accomplish such feats and doubted if it was even possible. For now, she was resigned to doing it in person.

**1983 November**

It was mid-November when Alana noticed a change in her mind. As with all story developments, the Saturday began perfectly normally with Alana's closed fist meeting Jake's face in a particularly vicious strike.

"When the hell did you get so strong!" Alana's closest and only friend wailed pathetically as his legs were swept out from underneath him. Said girl only smiled innocently at her fallen comrade and mentally patted herself on the back. Her library had proven itself an exploitable resource when it came to memorising and applying karate techniques. The practice relied heavily on muscle memory and experience after all, and it was easy to distinguish the physical activity from her reading.

"It's nice to see you and 'la floor' getting along so well, Jake." Alana smiled as Jake bared his teeth menacingly from the padded mats. She sat reclined on top of him with the lazy smile of a cat that got the cream.

"Alright. I think that's enough for the day, Alana. My son looks like he's about to bite your head off, so we'll carry on tomorrow." Mr Matthews sent his son a pitying glance as he led Alana out to the front door. With her back turned, Jake mouthed 'Kill her' with puppy dog eyes to the older male. His father only smirked at his son's suffering.

Alana shot the house one last wistful look after exiting the building before she headed to the library. She had started to get a headache with Jake's whining anyway.

The public library was marvellous, especially considering the state of most public facilities. Alana couldn't stop the grin forming at the sight of the large antique doors which had inspired the ones in her own mind space. She picked her way towards the physics section with unspoken familiarity and searched for anything interesting. She had always hated physics as Alexis, and she still held the same disdain for the way it was taught. There was, however, one branch of it that she had always found captivating and that was atomic science. This world was a fair bit behind in quantum mechanics, but the seeds of knowledge had already been planted by Einstein. She finally found a decent book and pulled it from the confines of the shelf: Statistical Physics and the Atomic Theory of Matter: From Boyle and Newton to Landau and Onsager. Jackpot! Alana fist-pumped the air in triumph and gripped the book in both hands tightly. It was at that glorious moment that her triskelion decided to flare up painfully forcing her to drop the book with a thud. **Ding!**

**_Notification: New Creation in Mindscape!_**

_Species: Library System_

_Would you like to name your creation?_

_YES or NO_

"Ahhhh?! I've been possessed!" Alana screamed before slamming a hand over her open mouth. Eyes wide, she quickly abandoned the book and darted into the library toilets, quietly praying no one saw her shout. '_How embarrassing,'_ she winced. You'd have thought nothing strange had ever occurred to her with that reaction. Her embarrassment was short-lived, however, as she soon focused on the next-level-strangeness of a blue notification window appearing in her immediate vision. She hoped it wasn't some physical manifestation of a mental illness that had decided to invade her head. With that final heartfelt plea, she pressed the **YES** button, and her body slumped against the wall.

Alana's mindscape greeted her, and she heaved a sigh of relief at the lack of extraterrestrial life. **Ding!**

**_Notification: New Creation in Mindscape!_**

_Species: Library System_

_What would you like to name your creation?_

Golden orbs flicked to the notification and paused there. No keyboard was in sight.

"Capricorn," She said curiously. **Ding!**

**_New Creation: Capricorn_**

_Species: Library System_

_Level: 0_

_Created as a byproduct of mental growth and loneliness, Capricorn is a library system formed from the magic core of its creator. Capricorn is capable of filtering basic experiences and knowledge at its creator's discretion._

Alana's eyes widened a fraction before a glint of annoyance flashed across her eyes.

"Oi! Who are you calling lonely?!" She grumbled before reading the rest of the notification. Of particular interest was the mentioning of a certain **MAGIC CORE**. Her analysis was cut short by a soft whirring sound, and she turned to come face to lens with a floating spherical droid.

"Hi?"

"..."

'Well, this is awkward.' Alana waved a hand in front of the thing and watched the lens shutter open and closed.

"..."

"So, do I have to program you or something?" She asked. No reply. '_Fantastic. It's mute and looks like a freaky AI.'_

The silver machine floated its way to the bookshelf and emitted a soft red light which seemed to scan the shelf's contents. She frowned unsurely before deciding to let it be. She had more pressing matters like Magic Cores to attend to and whatever it was doing hadn't killed her yet. Based on what she had seen so far, her mind seemed to be changing because of this magic core or perhaps the other way around. She was not sure, but she did know those notification panels were eerily familiar. It was as if she had seen them somewhere before and not just in computer games either.

"Menu," she intoned. No response.

"Inventory." Maybe not. She turned her gaze to the droid.

"Observe." Aaannnddd… nothing. Well, that was disappointing. **Ding!**

**_Notification: Level up!_**

_Library System: Capricorn is now level 1 and capable of quicker processing of 600 words per hour._

Alana blanched. Wasn't this just way too slow? The average reading speed was 200 words per minute.With a sigh, she tried several more orders before resigning herself to her fate. **Ding!**

**_Notification: Level up!_**

_Library System: Capricorn is now level 2 and capable of quicker processing of 700 words per hour._

Alana gave the machine a disdainful look. '_Hopefully, this thing works even while I sleep; otherwise, this will take forever.'_


	6. 4) Evolution is Key

**1983 December**

**Ding!**

**_Notification: Level up!_**

_Library System: Capricorn is now level 8 and capable of quicker processing of 1300 words per hour._

Alana glanced at the notification panel idly before waving it away with a quick thought. It had been a month, and she had made absolutely no progress in discovering what this magic core business was about. No amount of study, physical activity, meditating or commanding made any difference. So, she waited and instead focused her energy on levelling Capricorn. The library droid had become capable of basic speech upon reaching level 5. Unfortunately, the conversations were hardly stimulating and generally went along the lines of:

"Hello, Capricorn."

"Greetings, creator."

"How are you today?"

"Capricorn does not understand this inquiry, creator."

"Do you need anything?"

"Capricorn does not understand this inquiry, creator."

"Please shut up."

"Capricorn does not understand this inquiry, creator."

It had one of those male Siri voices that really annoyed the girl, so conversations were rather short. Alana flicked her eyes to the busking money in her hands and continued the walk home after evading her fiendish stalker once more.

**1984 January**

**Ding!**

**_Notification: Level up!_**

_Library System: Capricorn is now level 10 and capable of quicker processing of 1500 words per hour. Max level reached! Would you like to evolve Capricorn?_

_YES or NO_

The notification pinged just as Alana narrowly avoided Mr Matthews' left kick.

"Focus," The man snarled as his right fist materialised before her. She ducked and twisted with surprising flexibility to land a sidekick to his knee. It was a rookie mistake she realised a second too late as he broke her balance and she hit the floor.

"Damn," she huffed and slammed her hand onto the sparring mat. "I'm surprised you ever gave up martial arts teaching, Mr Matthews. You're a lot stronger than you look," she winced as he pulled her up.

"Doesn't pay the bills, Lana. Don't think I forgot you losing focus there. Twenty press-ups, kid."

_'So close,'_ Alana lamented.

"You weren't even close to making me forget," Mr Matthews smirked knowingly. Meanwhile, Alana's inner self endured with silent tears pouring out of her eyes in mini rivers. '_Such injustice! We shall avenge ourselves,'_ she swore.

It was some 20 minutes later when she found the time to enter her mindscape. The **YES **was quickly selected, and she watched the droid in fascination as it combusted.

"..."

"Don't tell me there was a chance of failure?!" She panicked and gave her curls a sharp tug before wiping her hands in disgust. Grease. Ew… **Ding!**

**_Notification: Evolution!_**

_Library System: Capricorn I has evolved to Capricorn II level 0 capable of complex thought and processing 2000 words per hour. Strain on magic core has reduced. New form processing…_

Alana waited as the progress bar slowly filled. _Is there a bad connection here or something? This is worse than 3G_. **Ding!**

**_Notification: Evolution Complete!_**

"Awaiting orders, creator." The voice was gravelly but an immense improvement from male Siri. That, however, was irrelevant when the droid was no longer a droid. Moreover, it seemed to have taken its name far too seriously. Standing next to the shelf was a male figure dressed in a black coat tail jacket. The only issue with his otherwise human form was that in place of a normal human face, it had a white goats head. Alana's jaw dropped as the thing made eye contact.

"My data banks indicate that you have exceeded the appropriate period of eye contact," the goat man spoke. She jumped in fright. It was so creepy. '_If anyone ever gets into my head, they will be scarred for life,' _she thought while giving a nervous laugh. '_I know I am.'_

"My apologies. What sort of orders can I give you, Capricorn?" She managed not to trip on any of the words.

"Anything, creator." The horizontal pupils of his eyes met her own yet again, and she felt a shiver down her spine.

"If you have data banks. Do you know what you are and how you were made?" She asked excitedly.

"I was created as a byproduct of mental growth and loneliness and formed from your magic core, creator."

"How do I access my magic core?" Alana asked with blazing eyes. Capricorn froze for a good few minutes before he responded.

"Insufficient data."

"What?" Alana deflated instantly.

"My data banks are your own memories, creator. I cannot know if you do not have the necessary information, only draw conclusions from existing knowledge." She deadpanned at his words.

"Do you know how to make another creation?" She asked. **Ding!**

**_Notification: New Creation in Mindscape!_**

_Would you like to make a new creation in Mindscape?_

_YES or NO_

"Replying to my creator, creating a new creation at this moment is not advised as it may impede the growth of your magic core."

Alana quickly flicked her eyes to Capricorn.

"How do you know that?"

"I am created and fuelled by your core, creator."

She pondered this for a few seconds. His evolution supposedly reduced the strain on her core, yet he had no idea how to access the source of his energy. There had been no developments in her abilities in the past month, yet his evolution had allowed a new creation instantaneously.

"How long until I can create without any negative strain on my core?" She inquired with a calculating glint. If she evolved Capricorn again then would there be even less strain? Would it be possible to do this safely? There was also a chance of her core adapting in other ways as it had initially to her request for a sorting system. There were too many unknown variables, and any decision could be detrimental to her long-term growth. She couldn't rush this.

"Based on your current rate of growth, three months."

_'I have three months to evolve you, my dear Capricorn II.'_

**1984 March**

By the time three months had rolled by, Capricorn had reached level 14. The unexpected increase in max level was rather off-putting for Alana, but she continued to push forward as levelling became harder. The shelf in her Mindscape had been steadily filled over the past weeks with an array of new topics. Languages, in particular, had become a favourite of the girl as they required both theoretical knowledge and experience to be of any use. Latin and German had been added beside French along with a selection of myths and legends surrounding the practice of magic. The library had only a few books on the topic, so information was carefully hunted down during Alana's leisure time. In other news, the school had decided to move her up yet another year level, so she now spent more time with Jake in class. Whether that was a good thing or not was debatable. At times, he was almost as unbearable as the number of dings she had gotten lately whenever she thought of creating a new creature in her Mindscape.

"Creator, have you come to craft another system?" Capricorn questioned as Alana entered her mindscape. The curiosity in his voice was a recent development. Emotions were complex things, after all. She didn't know how to feel about Capricorn's growth just yet.

"I just want to try a few things first," she answered. Being able to process her memories was a gift, but the speed already met her needs. She did not want to use her core on another sorting system. She turned her eyes on Capricorn with a smile.

"Observe." **Ding!**

**_Creation: Capricorn II_**

_Species: Library System_

_Level: 14_

_Created as a byproduct of mental growth and loneliness, Capricorn is a library system formed from the magic core of its creator. Capricorn is capable of filtering basic experiences and knowledge at its creator's discretion._

Alana gave a small grin at the accomplishment. She remembered exactly where she had seen this ability before, a manhwa called The Gamer. She had considered the possibility of her having been reincarnated into that world, but the theory didn't quite hold up with what she knew about it. Her magic core didn't fit the script. Feeling more motivated, Alana straightened her posture and held her hand out in front of her. She had been putting off her experimentation for this day. She shut her eyes and focused on exactly what she wanted.

"Inventory!" The effect was instantaneous, and she doubled over in pain, feeling as though she had been stabbed in the chest. She was dizzy but pushed it aside momentarily and strained for some mental clarity. **Ding!**

**_Notification: New Creation in Mindscape!_**

_Species: Inventory System_

_Would you like to name your creation?_

_YES or NO_

A half-confused glare was directed at the notification before she tapped the **YES**. She hadn't planned to make another creature, but her magic core seemed to have a mind of its own when it came to accomplishing her goals. She wracked her brain for a suitable name that wouldn't creep her out if it took the name as its form like Capricorn had.

"Aquarius," She spoke. A few seconds later, she felt her head go damp.

"Pew! Pew!"

The noise came from the source of said wetness. Hoping whatever it was hadn't peed on her head, Alana reached up slowly to pick up the creature. It was gelatinous, no bigger than a dinner plate and jiggled in her fingers. Its cool, blue mass bounced and rubbed itself against her skin with the eagerness of a newborn pup.

It was… a SLIME!

"Pew! Pew!" It jiggled some more before launching itself back onto her head. Alana felt a layer of sweat on her forehead. Didn't slimes just decompose whatever they touched? Maybe it was dysfunctional? At least it was cute? **Ding!**

**_New Creation: Aquarius_**

_Species: Inventory System_

_Level: 0_

_If there is a will, there is a way! Aquarius is an inventory system formed from the magic core and will of its creator. Aquarius is capable of being summoned by its creator to store and release simple objects._

The seven-year-old girl looked at the blue panel thoughtfully. A thought occurred in her head that caused her to pause. It was a wonder she hadn't considered it before, really. Where did the game notification system originate, or rather, who was the game master?

These notifications, though seemingly innocuous, had informed her of her magic core's existence. Capricorn was a construct of her mind, and he couldn't fabricate knowledge. How could Capricorn have known of such a thing or even be formed, without her knowing of it first? She hadn't known, yet there was some absolute certainty in the notifications that left no room for argument. Magic was real. She had a magic core.

Perhaps this world had its own deity of magic that had influenced her system through her magic core or perhaps Gaia was influencing it through her mind as she doubted the triskelion could block its own creator. There was a third and less comforting possibility that Death had had a hand in this.

Alana shivered at the thought of the being that had played with her soul hovering in the back of her head.

NOPE! She shoved the mental image away with a scowl. That was a bit too much crazy for her to handle just yet. Besides, she had experiments to conduct with her little slime. The thought brought a slightly crazed gleam to her eyes. What better way was there to spend her time?


	7. 5) An Unfinished Medley

**1984 May**

It was early morning when child services arrived. They found Katherine's sleeping figure with a syringe inches away as was usual. She had forgotten to pay the rent. Again. Alana stared at them impassively as she answered the questions her mother was not in the right state of mind to. Yes, she felt perfectly safe at home. No, her mother did not usually leave the apartment so filthy.

A lie if she had ever heard one.

No, she didn't want to go stay with someone else.

Foster care was out of the question. She had heard the stories and seen the impact of the system in this life and the last. If she were lucky, she'd end up with an abuser rather than a rapist. Considering the year, she would be fortunate if she didn't end up dead under someone's backyard. The woman leading the team was an old friend of Katherine's. That was probably the only reason they left. Katherine was written off with a warning and a card for addiction services. They left Alana with a contact number that did nothing to stop her from glaring as they left. It was too close. She resolved herself to keep a closer eye on her mother.

**Ding!**

**_Notification: Level up!_**

_Library System: Capricorn II is now level 20 and capable of quicker complex thought and processing of 4,000 words per hour. Max level reached! Would you like to evolve Capricorn III?_

_YES or NO_

**Ding!**

**_Notification: Evolution!_**

_Library System: Capricorn II has evolved to Capricorn III! level 0 capable of complex thought, mind defence and processing 5,000 words per hour. Strain on magic core has reduced. New form processing…_

Alana had barely glanced at the notification before she was in her mindscape grilling Capricorn on the meaning of mind defence. He explained that he could now stop the intrusion of foreign energy to some degree. The triskelion could only protect information regarding the children of Gaia - which was to be expected really. Now she had something to protect everything else.

The name was a curious thing though. There was a saying that an absolute only serves to affirm the existence of its opposite. She wondered briefly what sort of mind attacks could be performed in this world. The humans here had seemed average to her, but this, along with the existence of a magic core, indicated a more sinister presence. Witches perhaps? Fae? Mutants? Twilightesque Vampires? Only time could tell. She gave Capricorn her thanks for his services despite him technically being a construct of her mind. He seemed pleased.

Progress with Aquarius was quite different.

"Summon: Aquarius," Alana stuck out her hand to catch the soccer-ball-sized slime.

"Pew! Pew!" The slime rolled its way into the trash bag Alana had prepared for it. She watched as one by one the slime dissolved and then replicated each object in the bag. The process was fascinating to watch as the creature was semi-transparent. Matter seemed to turn into bubbles in the slimes stomach before vanishing. Where did the objects go? She had every intention of finding out. Aquarius couldn't copy living beings as they were too complex and refused to eat an entire bag of objects in one go which was a shame. The little slime, however, had no problem storing and reproducing multiple objects if they were the same thing. **Ding!**

**_Notification: Evolution!_**

_Inventory System: Aquarius I has evolved to Aquarius II! level 0 capable of storing up to 3 objects. Summoning cost decreased._

Alana smiled with satisfaction.

**1984 August**

Linda's apartment was a palace compared to the dwelling of Alana's single parent. It was for this reason that she had elected to stay with the old woman over the last month when offered the opportunity. Linda had been more than happy to lend the couch, knowing the situation at home was far worse. Home was barely two doors down, but it seemed a world away as Alana unlocked the door. Katherine would be out shopping at this time, so she intended to give the place a quick clean and leave some rent money for the landlord if he came by.

The last time she had given her earnings to her mother, it had been used to fund her less endearing habits. She had learnt quickly not to repeat that mistake no matter how much her mother begged. Alana quickly picked her way past some discarded rubbish while holding a hand over her mouth to block out the stench of urine. Had a cat got in again? She was surprised to see her mother sleeping on her bed at this time of the day but shrugged it off as a rough night. With a click of her tongue, she nudged the sleeping woman slightly, so see if she'd be waking up anytime soon. Nothing. Go figure. She gave the prone body another once-over.

Her chest wasn't even moving.

Everything seemed to slow down for a moment before reality hit her like a freight train. Panicked, she checked her mother's pulse once, twice and then a third time. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Fear washed over her as nausea settled in her stomach.

"No. No. No," she muttered with panic clenching her heart. The shock of the scene had not yet paralysed her system, and she frantically turned the woman to examine her fully. Bloated skin greeted her vision. Blood dripped unnaturally from blue eyes and a foaming mouth. The stench of decomposing organs assaulted her senses, and she gagged. Not a recent death. How long had she been here? Alana stumbled back and tripped her way to the door. She was shaking and wide-eyed as she stumbled out of the apartment. She slammed the door behind her, hoping it would somehow dispel the visions of her mother's corpse from her mind.

She had been there a week at least. Her mother's corpse had been rotting for at least a week. She dry-wretched over the sink in Linda's bathroom, but nothing came out. Her hands were washed in scalding water several times before she tore them away from the liquid and curled up in the bathtub. It was wrong. It was disgusting and cruel how she had run from that corpse. The image of the body in her mind made bile rise in the back of her throat. She trembled, but the tears wouldn't fall. It was pathetic, but she didn't know what else to do. Her eyes stared unfocused at the wall for hours until they began to weigh down. She was tired, far too tired to think with the trauma burning her inside out. She wasn't sure how she slept, but she did, and the absence of thought had never felt sweeter.

She hadn't told anyone about the body. She couldn't find the words and didn't know if she wanted to. It would mean going into the system. Was it selfish to look out for herself now that her mother was gone? Was caring for the living not more important than caring for the dead? She should have kept a closer eye on her mother. She should have gotten her off the drugs. She should have been there. Should have, could have… She didn't. Child services would catch up with her eventually, and she'd be sent to a home. Maybe it would be a fitting punishment for her sins.

Jake Matthews considered himself to be a good kid. He was a well-behaved son even when his father disappeared for business trips each month. He was a decent student performing above his age level. He also thought himself to be a loyal friend. That last expression of his goodness had become less of a virtue and more of a fault over the past week. He cast a concerned eye towards his close friend, Alana Hales, and sighed. Her expression was closed off where it had once been teasing and seemingly unaffected by the world around it. She had been withdrawn these past days, and he didn't know why.

"Are you feeling alright?" He had asked the same question barely minutes ago.

"Fine," she replied. She was lying, and it left a bitter taste on his tongue. He couldn't force her to tell the truth. He wouldn't.

"You can tell me anything, you know that, right?" He tried to smile.

"Yeah." He wouldn't find out until late-September what that answer meant.


	8. 6) Blood Runs Thick Here

**1984 October**

She ran before they could find her.

The violin was limp and lifeless in her hands, but the eight-year-old played it beautifully nonetheless. Tartini's Violin Sonata purred beneath her fingers in G minor. It fitted for how she felt. If a devil existed, it would surely mock her at this moment. The landlord had found her mother in a pile of her own excrement and called the authorities shortly after informing Linda. She had heard the words from Linda's mouth and, deaf to her instructions to wait in her apartment, she grabbed her belongings and left.

London was a large city, and she had often strayed from the beaten path. Hiding from childcare services was new, but they were predictably reluctant to waste resources on finding a single runaway. Her usual haunts were known only to her, and this was one of the few rare times she had brought the recognisable violin out of its case. Even the library she did not dare enter so soon. A last pain-filled trill sounded through the air as the piece ended.

"Merci beaucoup," she bowed in thanks and placed her violin gently back in its case.

"Tu joues très bien." The words were almost lost amongst the dispersing crowd_. You play well._ The girl's face flickered with a ghost of appreciation at the compliment, but the remnants of the score's emotion refused to let her go so soon.

The days passed quickly and quietly for the eight-year-old. She constantly moved, breaking into abandoned and not so abandoned buildings when the need arose. Life without a guardian was harsh for a minor. Aquarius was quickly developing a talent for devouring doors and locks. The girl made sure she was off the streets by nightfall and on again by daybreak. She was determined to make the most of the daylight hours as Winter neared. She was fortunate enough not to have any encounters with authorities.

Alana sped up her pace as the sun set on the city. She had not expected it to fall so soon and the streets were far riskier at night. She ducked into a side alley with little hesitation, knowing from experience that it was empty at this time.

She was wrong.

Barely two steps in she felt the telltale prickle on the back of her neck. She was being watched. Her steps sped up, and her grip tightened on her violin case as she rounded a bend and pressed her back against the wall. The feeling was gone, and she closed her eyes to breath a quiet sigh of relief. It was too close. She opened her eyelids to a vision of red.

Though, perhaps red was too shallow of a description for the pools of blood that surrounded the man's dilated pupils. Alana froze like a deer caught in headlights only she felt the driver of this vehicle would not hesitate to run her over. The man himself was tall and slender with black velvet strands caressing pale cheeks. He wore casual black clothes as if they were the garments of a king and not humble streetwear. His figure stood ramrod straight almost three metres away, but she could have sworn he was mere centimetres from her throat. She held her breath and hid her expression as the being examined her.

"You have not played this week," he spoke in soft syllables, seemingly upset. His accent was a thick french wine. She paused, unsure if he wanted an answer or if one that would satisfy the man even existed. Her silence didn't seem to bother him in the least as he pinned her with a steady gaze. His eyes, however, soon dipped to a rather interesting place. If it were her non-existent chest then perhaps Alana could have calmed her nerves, but the direction was unmistakable. Jugular veins appeared to be in vogue these days.

She shuffled to the side but tensed when his eyes followed the movement like a sniper's scope. Use your martial Arts, you say? What martial arts? The man was clearly not human. Several warning alarms were going off in Alana's head that screamed submit or risk bodily mutilation and death. She had not reacted so strongly to any presence before and was not inclined to find out the reasoning behind it. She wasn't prepared to die today. Slowly, she placed raised a hand in supplication.

"If you go for the jugular it will get awfully messy." The words were spoken with unexpected calmness and a sheepish face. He only cocked his head and forcefully dragged his eyes from her jugular to her own molten irises. She flicked her gaze to her wrist and offered it hesitantly. His eyes followed the limb.

"You would offer this of your own free will?" The eagerness in his voice was barely disguised, and she blinked in surprise at it. She doubted he would have asked had he initially intended to end her life.

"If it will not kill me," she decided swiftly and offered the limb again with more confidence than was probably healthy. The growl that ripped from his throat was animalistic, but she didn't flinch. Sharp incisors were on her wrist in mere seconds, and her blood siphoned off shortly after. She fell back on the concrete wall for support when the first wave of dizziness hit and started to pull away after the second. Vampire. She had had her suspicions but to have them confirmed… She growled in frustration before he finally loosened his jaw. There was only a flash of red eyes, and he was gone.

Alana pressed a hand to the wall while checking her arm. She found two small incision marks where teeth had entered her skin. _Vampires. Of course, there just had to be bloody vampires. He didn't even say thank you. _With a shake of her head, she shoved the encounter to the back of her mind and continued her journey back to her shelter for the night. _Next thing you know she'd be seeing unicorns and dragons._

**1984 November**

The room was nice, tidy as well. Definitely worth the break-in. She leaned against the bed and patted Aquarius on the… slime? She didn't think slimes had a head or genitalia for that matter. Or did they? Was she technically groping it when she hugged it? Who knew? Her eyes eased shut for a few minutes before the prickling began again. It was the fifth night he'd crept into her territory. To do what exactly? Watch her sleep? Fat chance of that when his mere presence set her senses on edge. She could only ignore him for so long.

"If you want blood then ask. I don't appreciate being watched while I try to sleep," she spoke to the empty room for the first time since he had started the routine. She looked for all the world like a loon. She felt significantly better when Count Stalker materialised from the shadows. _How'd he do that? Maybe she ought to make a teleporting creature. Hm… _She gave him an appraising look from her seat on the bed as he restricted himself to the other side of the room. Why had she thought him being visible would make her feel better?

He wasn't moving an inch, so she resigned herself to crossing the distance herself. She inched her way to him with cautious steps. She'd adjusted slowly to his heavy gaze these past nights. Her wrist was in front of him already, and he grasped it so gently you would think she had been offering him gold. She tilted her head to watch his strange behaviour. Granted, she didn't think many people willingly gave their blood to vampires, but blood banks were a thing you know?! The second time he fed was easier than the first with significantly less lightheadedness. The third and fourth time in the coming month would show steady improvement as well.

**…**

**_Ding!_**

**_Notification: Level up!_**

_Library System: Capricorn III is now level 11 and capable of stronger mind defence, quicker complex thought and processing of 6,100 words per hour._

**_Ding!_**

**_Notification: Level up!_**

_Library System: Aquarius II is now level 19 and capable of storing up to 7 objects. Summoning cost decreased._

Alana flipped to the next page of the rather dull home economics book she'd plucked of someone's shelf. Vincent de Azrael. That was the name of the incredibly old vampire who had taken to her. She was rather concerned about how quickly her body had adjusted to the routine feedings if she was honest. Human blood donations were nowhere near as frequent or as large, yet a nights rest was all she needed, and she was ready to go. She quietly glanced at the vampire across the room before returning to her text with furrowed eyebrows. That was the other thing: he had taken to keeping watch over her at night. Even more concerning was the fact that she felt this to be perfectly natural. In what universe did relaxing in the presence of a natural predator become natural?

"What troubles you, mon ami?" Vincent asked softly, clearly sensing her uneasiness. She startled at the unexpected endearment.

"You. Is it not unusual that you spend so much time around me?" She answered with no preamble. Her speech pattern had also changed with Vincent as her only company.

"It is not." The reply was curt and unlike him. "Your blood is valuable to me. Naturally, I would protect the source."

A half-lie. She gave him a knowing look. He was avoiding many explanations with minimal words.

"Is it because I have a magic core?" Alana asked as she flipped the page and entirely missed his eyes snapping to her in an instant.

"You know this and still give me blood?" His tone was incredulous and suspicious. She met his eyes with intense curiosity.

"Is there a reason not to? There aren't any weird blood rituals going on, are there?"

"No… It is only unusual. The wizarding world of Britain has long since abandoned their relations with my kind. Blood sharing is frowned upon by most."

"I know very little about the wizarding world, Azrael. Neither of my parents had any magic that I know of."

"I believe the term they use for one in such circumstances as yourself is muggle-born."

_'Muggle-born… As in Harry Potter…'_ Eyes wide Alana clasped her hands tightly to restrain herself. She couldn't react in front of Azrael. But the man was already beside her peering curiously at the child's expression. It was the closest he had dared come of his own volition she realised.

"This word means something to you?" He inquired gently, not quite daring enough to initiate physical contact.

Alana closed her eyes to take a deep breath before she replied, "Some things are better off forgotten. That word is one of them." She smiled shakily. The vampire gave her an evaluating look before nodding at her resolve.

"As you wish, mon ami."

**1984 December**

It took a week to come to terms with her new reality. It took another to reign in the desire to scream profanities at the heavens and whatever messed up deity (_'Death I know it was you'_) decided to drop her in this particular godforsaken universe. Her memories of Alexis only fueled her ire. She had hated the Harry Potter series intimately. In fact, the only reason she had read the novels in the first place, after being explained the plot, was because she refused to believe such a series was so popular. She also refused to let the first object of her newly found levels of hatred be hated ignorantly. It wasn't the world that twisted her gut - well actually she thought the world-building left a lot to be desired - it was mostly the book's black and white categorisation of characters. You were either dark or light, good or evil, sane or insane. It was as though the author had given up on writing half of the characters. They lacked depth.

Voldemort was insane because he threw his soul through the shredder, but he somehow managed to make servants of debatable loyalty out of an aristocracy that had ruled for years. Dumbledore was good, but he supported a utilitarian government *cough* dictatorship *cough* and allowed the abuse of multiple students under his purview. Harry Potter was… just disappointing really. He had so many resources at his fingertips but lacked the initiative, knowledge, and ambition to use them. His goals were simplistic and ultimately, forced on him by others.

Alexis had baulked at the books and handled the decent fanfictions appreciatively. That being said, just because someone hates something does not necessarily mean they want to change it. If Alana could find a large enough rock in this world, she would crawl under it with pleasure. Vampires, dragons, unicorns, ogres, death munchers, and the order of fried chicken. Her triskelion blazed with memories that refused to be forgotten. She was well and truly fucked!

Azrael had taken the younger female's recent mood swings with infinite grace. Her face went through several emotions a day, ranging from happiness to disgust and then furious loathing. It was a bit of unusualness the ancient being could have gone without, but he considered the blood and violin playing well worth it.

He had left France decades ago to take residence in Britain. The move was one many had considered foolish as Britain welcomed no covens amongst its people unlike the rest of Europe. The silence, however, was what Vincent de Azrael had craved. One of his few regrets, however, had been the loss of magical musicians. France had been abundant with them, yet Britain had halted the practice of teaching their young with the passing of the founders of Hogwarts. It was a small relief to find a player no matter how young. Although, to find a witch willing to part with their blood was worth even more attention.

The small girl was barely 8 years of age and had offered her wrist to a non-human. The action was not without consequences as he had already explained to her. With her blood being regularly taken, her magic core would be forced to adapt her body, thus strengthening it somewhat. Then there was the attachment forming between them. Blood was a powerful force, even more so for magical beings, so it was little surprise that he had developed a need to be near her and her, a level of instinctive trust. A new vampire-wizard bond had not been formed in Europe since the last bout of coven wars and to find such a young magical being willing and capable of forming such an attachment was indeed a first for the dark creature.

"Would you care to take up residence with me in London?" The question tumbled from his lips against his own volition, and he started at the forwardness. She had already switched her focus away from her most recently acquired piece of literature. With her appetite for books, she would surely adore his collection, no matter its volume. She stared at him for several seconds expressionless, and he considered asking a second time. The suggestion was actually rather appealing now that he thought about it.

"I would like that." The answer was simple, and the corners of her lips lifted with a trace of happiness. His own eyes glittered with pleasure.


	9. 7) Nothing But Illusions

**1985 November**

The residence of Vincent de Azrael was a sight to behold for any child, let alone one that had been raised in the slums. The Victorian terrace was easily separated from the neighbouring buildings and painted an intimidating yet dignified black with white accents. Alana had briefly wondered if Azrael had designed the place himself as it suited him very well. It practically screamed 'old money'.

A spare room had been quickly prepared for the girl, and she settled in with practised ease. It was a novel experience to have more than a temporary place to call home and one so well equipped at that. She was able to shower with freedom at last! Azrael had even gone so far as to purchase Alana some appropriate clothing before burning her rags with a satisfied expression. Whatever malnourishment she had experienced as a child seemed a bitter memory with the blood bond working its magic and three full meals a day at Azrael's expense. A few days after her moving in, he had placed a firm hand on her back to lead her to his collection of books. It was probably one of the few kindnesses he regretted as she refused to leave the room whenever she found a decent read, even to give blood. He'd had to move one of his more comfortable study chairs into the library for this reason.

It was these changes that lead Alana to start her current project.

The young witch yawned quietly and gave her arching letters a critical inspection. Over the past year, she had been documenting the changes in her mindscape creations with intimate detail. Learning to use the damnable quill had been more difficult than the math she'd skillfully employed to dissect the levelling system. The fruits of her labour peered at her from the ageing parchment.

**_Creation: Capricorn_**

_Species: Library System_

_Created as a byproduct of mental growth and loneliness, Capricorn is a library system formed from the magic core of its creator. Capricorn is capable of filtering basic experiences and knowledge at its creator's discretion._

**_Capricorn I_**

_Max level 10 : Capable of processing 500 words per hour + 100 words per level._

**_Capricorn II_**

_Max level 20 : Capable of complex thought and processing 2000 words per hour + 100 words per level._

**_Capricorn III_**

_Max level 30 : Capable of mind defence, complex thought and processing 5000 words per hour + 100 words per level._

**_Capricorn IV_**

_Max level 40 : Capable of mind defence, complex thought and processing 12000 words per hour + 100 words per level. Efficiency of all basic attributes increased by half._

**_Creation: Aquarius_**

_Species: Inventory System_

_If there is a will, there is a way! Aquarius is an inventory system formed from the magic core and will of its creator. Aquarius is capable of being summoned by its creator to store and release simple objects._

**_Aquarius I_**

_Max level 10: Capable of storing 1 object + 1 object for every 4 levels._

**_Aquarius II_**

_Max level 20: Capable of storing 3 objects + 1 object for every 4 levels. Summoning cost decreased._

**_Aquarius III_**

_Max level 30: Capable of storing 8 objects + 1 object for every 4 levels. Summoning cost decrease doubled._

**_Creation: Pisces_**

_Species: Healing System_

_Pisces is a healing system created from intense study of medicine and medicinal magic. Pisces is a spiritual summon formed from the magic core and will of its creator. It is capable of boosting focus, dexterity and precision, which are essential in the medical field._

**_Pisces I_**

_Max level 10: Magic Focus increased x2_

She gave her notes a gloomy look. It had taken so long! She was, nevertheless, pleased especially with her work and even more so with the newest addition to her clique of creatures. Pisces was a spirit summon that took the form of a long, wispy, white fish skeleton. The female fish was exquisite in her appearance and curled easily around Alana's arm when in use. Thankfully, there would be no further Siri repeats as the Patronus-like creature was blessedly mute and didn't seem to have any sentience. The only complaint the nine-year-old had was that the amount of magic required to summon her was ridiculously large. The first summons had left her gasping for breath for half an hour and only vaguely aware of the burning sensation in her stomach. After initial vertigo had worn off, she had prodded the area mentally. With an increased awareness of magic, she had found her magical core. That had been nearly eight months ago, and her new-found knowledge had not been put to waste.

The papers were slipped into a folder, and her latest book replaced its place on her desk. Mollis Magicae. 'Soft Magic' in Latin. A large chunk of Azrael's collection had been depleted within the span of a few months. Capricorn had already evolved to IV and had been stuck at level 25 for the past two weeks. Fortunately, the evolution bonus increased his base processing speed by half so he could process a total of 14,500 words in an hour. Considering her reading speed was just over 18,000 on average, the speed was fine as long as she took regular breaks to avoid headaches. The book itself had proven to be a valuable resource in giving a general overview of the types of magic which existed.

The term 'soft' magic simply referred to magics that were instinctive to a race and required little to no force to use. The allure of a veela, the occlumency of vampires and the sensory enhancement of werewolves were all included in this category. Witches and wizards were written to have a more flexible aura in the book which explained their larger selection of 'forced' magics but lack of 'soft' magic. It was a fascinating read. She had yet to find any material specifically regarding human magic in Azrael's library, so any snippet of information was treasured.

Despite the lack of information, she had managed to perform some small feats of magic without the aid of her systems. Fire was easy enough to summon with a quick 'inflamare' for good measure and shove of condensed magic into the area she wanted. Oxygen already existed in the air, so she just needed heat and fuel to start a combustion reaction. The properties of magic were unknown to her, but it had proven to be able to act as both a heat source and a fuel with a very low ignition temperature. Consequently, fire was easy to make but hard to control. Ice was the opposite being considerably more difficult to create but easier to direct as energy had to be pulled from matter to create it.

With practice, she had learnt that shoving objects was the easiest feat to accomplish, but like fire, it seemed a great deal of control was sacrificed to make that happen. Often, migraines were her only reward for concentrating. Magic was not as easy as it seemed - wandless magic even more so.

**1985 December**

Vibrating with excitement, Alana darted closely after Azrael's robed figure. The vampire turned his eyes to regard his significantly smaller companion. His red irises had been shielded by brown contacts earlier in the morning. She examined him in turn while smoothing the surprisingly worn fabric of her borrowed black cloak. He flicked his wrist silently - a signal to stay close. The darkened alley was anything but innocent, and the two made their way to their destination cautiously. A hand was placed on a stone wall, a string of Latin words spoken in hushed tones, and then the solid wall became nought but an illusion.

Twisted buildings hunched over cobbled streets like beggars with empty lanterns hanging from their boney limbs. Azrael placed a hand on Alana's shoulder as they moved out of the small alleyway and onto the street. Those few to pass the pair walked hurriedly down the road or quickly slipped into a shop with their heads down. The sides of the path were livelier with decrepit hags offering their wares to the mute passersby and a handful of hooded figures dealing in the shadows. Alana surveyed the scene with keen eyes and ears, picking up bits of conversation as she walked.

'The best wares in Knockturn.' 'Another job tonight.' 'A drink at Harley's sounds great.' 'Bloody werewolves.'

The whispers were harsh when focused on, but she was determined to adjust to her changing physique. Azrael had mentioned her blood donations, possibly having such an effect on her senses. They stepped off the main street and down a less frequented road. A few moments later, Alana was following Azrael into a dusty shop. The vampire turned to his ward to make sure she still remembered his instructions not to touch anything. Then, he went about the task of tracking down the store's clerk. The establishment dealt in a wealth of less used objects including athames and ritual blades which Alana swiftly gravitated to. Azrael quickly found the elderly woman at the front desk.

"I require a set of black tourmaline earrings with the rune Perth and an iron piercer," Azrael quietly requested and watched the woman scurry away with a swish of long skirts. Alana glanced at him briefly before returning to her examination.

"There were several books in your library on the symbolism of precious stones and minerals. Correct me if I am wrong, but naturally-black tourmaline is a protection stone. Iron cleanses, and Perth is the rune for initiation and… concealment I think?" Alana commented absentmindedly as she admired a shelf of silver-coated skulls. The historical practice of drinking from the skull of one's enemy came to mind.

"That is correct, young one."

It was only after returning home that the purpose of the accessories was revealed to the eternally curious Alana.

"They will mask the majority of your magic signature from unwanted attention," Azrael explained. He had noticed her growing restlessness and curiosity towards the wizarding world. He was reluctant to restrain her, so he had opted for a more gentle approach. A short ritual would ensure none of the ministry's old tracers would pick up the use of her recently accessed accidental magic. Of course, how was he to know that Alana's magic was far from accidental or recently accessed? Her summoning ability was a form of haphazard mind magic supported by the impressionable magic of a child's core.

He had not worried about the ministry previously as his own house was thoroughly steeped in ancient magics and blood, which would mask her wandless practice. What was truly fortunate was that mind magic could not be traced or Alana would have been found out much sooner. The witch only smiled at his explanation and inquired about the ritual needed. Good intentions should be returned with gratitude and a favour such as this would be difficult to pay back.


	10. 8) Less Savory Types

**1986 February**

The black dragonhide boots of a young girl padded down Knockturn Alley with silent purpose until they found their target. The bedraggled hag glared at the cloaked figure and bared her yellowing teeth mockingly.

"Looking for a good time, sweetheart?" She croaked from her seated position against the wall.

"Looking for a job, my dear." Alana purred in reply while giving the women an appreciative once-over. Her appearance was cruel and withered with matted white hair and beady eyes, but the effect was diminished by an aura of wicked confidence. Hags were certainly not to be trifled with in her opinion. Rumour said they had once been witches who had dabbled in the dark arts and cursed their bloodlines with their actions. As most murmurs were, the rumours were false. They were their own race with a propensity towards darker and more arcane crafts. Most of them made elixirs and talismans. Because of this, it was both sad and unsurprising that they had been driven into Knockturn after being deprived of the necessary resources for their crafts.

Alana slipped two galleons between her fingers with a tricky sleight of hand and quirked her lips as the hag's eyes lit up. Greed. That was an emotion she was familiar with. The hag reached to snatch the gold, but the girl leaned out of her reach.

"Ah, ah, ah," she chastised gently. Her drawn hood revealed a mocking smile that would have seemed out of place on such a young face.

"You'll be wanting Raoul in Harley's. Two paths down to your right, behind Trackleshanks Locksmith before Horizont Alley. Happy?" The woman sneered as her talons encircled her prize.

"Ecstatic," Alana replied. "You have my gratitude, madam."

"It's Esme Reed. I ain't no one's madam."

"As you wish."

She found the place soon enough and pressed the rickety door open with little preamble. The tavern was spacious with round tables scattered throughout. A staircase to what she could only assume to be rooms for rent was pressed into the left corner of the room with a large bar taking up the wall beside it. The smell of smoke hung heavily in the air, the result of a rugged looking male smoking a purple liquid in a corner. The focal point of the room was a large mantled fireplace, and the muscular man lounging luxuriously beside it in a winged armchair. Quietly, Alana treaded her way towards the bar and took a stool. It was a much more difficult task than she had expected with her size. She heard a snicker and gave the bartender a dark look. '_Let's see you try it at this height,'_ she mentally challenged the tightly bodiced woman. Said woman just quirked a silent eyebrow and wiped the bench with a strong, tattooed arm. _'Is that a flayed man?'_ Alana eyed the artwork with morbid curiosity.

"What'll it be, love?" The barmaid who appeared to be in her late thirties asked in dulcet tones.

"A pint of leper's lute if you've any," the girl replied.

Skulking Knockturn over the previous two months had acquainted her to a variety of liquor, magic and races. However, she had only ever ventured into The White Wyvern and never this particular bar. She had thus far acquainted herself with a few half-veela, werewolves and a half-merrow (a relative of selkies). How that last copulation had worked was a mystery to her. Several books on magic had been purchased and consumed by her eager mind before she found herself short on funds. Gringotts Wizarding Bank was situated directly across Knockturn Alley's entrance from Diagon Alley. A quick dash across the shopping district at the beginning of her exploring had seen some years worth of busking money converted into galleons. It was a shame they hadn't lasted long.

Azrael may have helped her out, but she was reluctant to ask as he was already providing food and shelter in exchange for blood. Her sense of independence wouldn't allow her to increase her already large debt to the man. With the loss of two galleons to the hag, Esme Reed, she was officially bankrupt. This was the main reason she had ventured deeper into Knockturn Alley. Diagon Alley was the far riskier option to find work as its residents were far more likely to question the presence of an apparently unsupervised child cloaked in black.

Magical parents, in general, seemed lax in their duties from what she had noticed. However, they were extremely nosy. She speculated that this was a cultural norm because of the natural dangers that having magic entailed. She had considered getting a wand and learning a notice-me-not charm. Regretfully, there were no alternative wand shops in the area, and Ollivanders was under strict government control. Honestly, how did people think the trace on wizarding youths worked?

A bubbling white concoction was placed before Alana, and she savoured the taste. Alcohol seemed to have little effect on her despite her physical age.

"I'm looking for Raoul," she told the woman with an even tone. The barmaid considered her for a second before twisting her gaze over her shoulder. Alana had thankfully already felt the presence and cocked her head at the man behind her inquisitively.

"Looking for me? Rather small to be wanting my services, don't you think?" His voice was hushed as he leaned in with a curious smirk. The man was intimidating even to his own peers with tight muscles barely masked by a dragonhide jacket. Expensive yet practical. A few small scars ran across his chin where stubble grew, and coal eyes gleamed calmly. Alana idly wondered where he kept his wand. His magic one that is. His other was proudly noticeable despite him wearing loose pants. Evidently, the man had no love for traditional wizarding clothes. Neither did she.

"I'm looking for a job, actually. I heard you could help." Whatever thoughts went through his head were not apparent on his face as he took a nearby seat.

"What sort of job are we talking here?"

"Anything." The iron in her voice threw off any guesses he might have had at her age. She would do anything to improve her abilities and expand her knowledge. It was her only advantage in the magical world. She wouldn't be bound by the circumstances she had been born into or shackled by her own hatred of the being that had determined them.

"Anything?" As the sage advice goes, Sic vis pacem para bellum - if you want peace, prepare for war.

**1986 November**

**_Creation: Capricorn IV_**

_Species: Library System_

_Level: 32_

_Capable of mind defence, complex thought and processing 15,200 words per hour_

**_Creation: Aquarius III_**

_Species: Inventory System_

_Level: 24_

_Capable of storing 14 objects. Summoning cost decrease doubled._

**_Creation: Pisces II_**

_Species: Healing System_

_Level: 8_

_Magic focus increased x2 Dexterity increased x2_

Eight months passed, and with it, Alana grew. She twisted deftly to avoid the Erkling's arrow. Several of the elf-like creatures surrounded her, and each of them was emitting high pitched cackles meant to lull children into their arms. Such a shame she was no child.

"_Into darkness taking flight, whispers on the wings of night,_

_follow us, our lovely tune, as above the smiling moon,_

_Diddle-dee-dee, diddle-dee-doe, not far now, not far to go,_

_Into twilight, into gloom, sing the sound of dawdling doom,_

_follow us, our lovely song, know that we can do no wrong,_

_Diddle-dee-dee, diddle-dee-doe..._"

They sang the song while waving their green, branch-like limbs. Sickly yellow eyes glinted from gaunt faces. With the aid of Pisces, a knife was thrown into one of the three-foot menace's torsos. It was soon devoured by flames when the runes on the blade activated. Another flash of silver and a second burned, leaving three more left. The masked girl growled softly and backtracked several steps before reaching into her side pack where Aquarius resided. A grin and two seconds were all it took for her to throw the creature in their direction. In the blink of an eye, the rest of the XXXX classified beasts were burnt to ash. Chlorine Trifluoride was one of the many chemicals she had fed Aquarius in vast quantities. It was extremely flammable and known to set fire to substances such as glass, sand, and people, on contact. Erklings were sadly vulnerable to flames. Alana gave their corpses a withering glare as she allowed Aquarius to swallow them. Their bodies would fetch a pretty price as potions ingredients after they were carved up and she knew just the guy to do it. She turned to finish her previous task.

'Break into the Ashworth summer estate and liberate a certain book from his shelves,' Greyson had said. 'It'll be easy,' he said. Pah! Were she not getting paid, she would whack the American thief's pretty head. That man must have a thick face to dump such a job on a ten-year-old. Bastard! The door was opened, and she wove past the wards with sharp, precise movements. She had invested weeks in preparing specifically for this raid. A few runes here and there were carved in the walls to break down small sections of the ward formation while Aquarius soaked up whatever silver it could find in the floors. The progress was slow going, but the silver was what linked the wards so tightly together and brought magic to the rest of the house. It was a relatively weak method of warding, so she didn't have too much trouble. The summer estate was inherited, and the condition of its defences spoke more of neglect than wealth.

She made it to the study in half an hour. Twenty minutes and Lord Ashworth would no doubt be notified of the break-in. The lordship ring he wore would be connected to the wards of all family-owned properties as most were. The book was easy enough to find in a box within the drawer of the desk. Aquarius devoured the thing with a burp. The slime was developing some rather strange habits through no fault of her own. If he burped then the box was probably cursed. She'd have to have it checked for trackers by Greyson later. Alana made her escape just in time to feel the pulse of magic that pulled up the second layer of wards. The second layer almost always consisted of defensive mechanisms and attack arrays. A little too late, but one could still appreciate the work of the ward master. A kilometre away, she pulled a portkey out from her left pocket.

"Back Sparrow." Two words and she was spirited away.

Alana stumbled at the wave of nausea she had learnt to associate with portkey use. With a scowl, she pulled herself upright. A series of moans caught her attention, and she turned to see none other than Greyson Harper with his dick half-way into a nameless woman.

"Fuck!" He screamed as they made eye contact. It was a high pitched sound that even a mother would have difficulty loving. She saw the woman under him flinch.

"No, thank you," Alana replied warmly as she threw herself into the nearest seat to lean back and observe the unfolding scene. Greyson had already been shoved off by the woman who gave him a dirty look.

"Clearly you're busy," she voiced stiffly and grabbed her things off of the floor. Greyson chased her with hasty apologies, but she was having none of it. He gripped her wrist tightly, and her palm met his cheek with a resounding 'Slap!' Alana chuckled as the door was slammed in his face and Greyson continued to curse. He whirled on the girl who, despite reaching an uninspiring 1.3 metres in height, managed to look for all the world like she belonged in the criminal's room.

"I hope you're happy with yourself," He growled.

"Immensely," She laughed and procured the stolen box with a gloved hand.

"You got it?" Surprise coated his tongue, and she rolled her eyes.

"I wouldn't be here if I hadn't. Mind not slacking off next time I'm risking my hide?" Her tone was sweet, but her words dripped with acid. He knew very well what she could do. Unfortunately, he also knew the threat was empty. He was valuable, as both an available wand and an excellent forger. He grabbed his own pair of gloves and wand and set to work. She didn't bother to stay as she'd seen him work a few times before and knew him to have his own tricks that he'd rather not share. It was routine for them to work together on stolen goods. He'd find the job and do any curse-breaking while she did the stealing with the reward split 50/50. Not exactly fair but beggars couldn't be choosers, and she was still wandless.

Alana caught the railing as she descended the stairs of Harley's tavern.

"The usual, Sparrow?" Willow, the tavern manager, called and Alana answered an affirmative as she strolled over to Raoul. The mercenary lounged in his usual seat though he perked up at her name. It was a diminutive nickname that he had come up with, but it had stuck.

"Anything interesting?" He struck up a conversation as she took a seat on the longer couch across from him.

"About fourteen Erklings," She grinned amusedly as his eyebrows raised in surprise. The job he had given her had been a part of a trial he had put her on to see if she was ready for higher stake operations. Raoul had a reputation of satisfying clients to keep up after all, and he couldn't have dead weight. Needless to say, she had proven herself capable.

"Quite the haul. I'm afraid to have missed the fun." A pause and then, "There's been a lack of jobs lately, as you know, so I'll need a few days if you wanted something."

Alana eyed the man with a frown hidden behind the mask covering her face. The lack of jobs concerned her, especially as it was mostly due to the ministry's recent attempts to get a hold on the more uncontrollable areas of the magical shopping district. It was improbable, to succeed, but the effects could still be felt. Raoul had felt it all too keenly as a mercenary with connections and the de facto leader of the underground these days. She knew for a fact that he was considering leaving Britain for France for better opportunities. He was already forty-seven but the same prowess that had brought him to the top of the food chain during the last years of Voldemort's reign of terror had not lessened in the least with age. He'd have little trouble getting a foot in France. What would be difficult was finding a successor with enough experience to cover Britain. She emptied her glass ponderously before paying.

Walking down Knockturn Alley at night was, in reality, safer for Alana than doing so in London. No one dared to attack another in an area home only to those well versed in the magical arts. Whether she was worthy of being placed in such a group was irrelevant so long as she looked it. The White Wyvern was her first stop after Harley's as her fingers felt twitchy after her drink. A few jigs on her violin took care of that. The patrons were friendlier there and the scent of fresh lavender soothing to more than just the werewolves. Now though, the melancholy of not having a job kicked in. She had barely taken more than a two-day break since she started working under Raoul. The lack of goal had her heart in such turmoil that she barely noticed her return to Azrael's abode.

The vampire in question was awake, of course. His kind had little need for sleep other than recreationally what with them being 'living-dead'. They were creatures animated by the magic which coursed through their veins and bound their technically dead souls to their corpse. What was thought to be an unnatural healing ability was, in reality, their magic keeping their corpses from decomposing on the spot. It was with such thoughts in mind that Alana found herself drifting off to sleep against her pseudo guardian that night lulled by familiarity of his presence.

**1986**

"What does blood taste like?"

The question was not unwelcome despite the peaceful quiet that had settled between the two over the past hour. Azrael stirred, his red wine irises turning to regard his companion. Alana thought he had the most exquisite eyes, sharp yet clear despite the crazed reputation of his race.

"Like life."

There wasn't any need for an explanation. Like life. Blood was joy, sorrow, hope, fear and adrenaline wrapped into one. It was a unique experience in every mouthful. She had noticed Azrael had difficulty expressing emotions. Perhaps, it was his age, but some days it seemed he could stand in the same place for eternity without noticing the world pass him by. She could not vouch for her own emotional stability, but the two seemed to complement each other well.

"What do I taste like, then?"

It was silent long enough for Alana to wonder if Azrael was ever going to answer the question. Then he replied.

"You taste like war." It was said with enough heat to make her skin prickle in response. "Like pain and passion. Like chaos and victory." His eyes burned into her with a conviction beyond her understanding.

There something intensely beautiful about the fire in his eyes that swept through her soul and seared itself into her memories. Had she ever had such drive, such purpose, even momentarily? Even days after as Azrael fell back into his usual but steadily improving state, she found she longed to draw that fire out again. She wanted to push the man far enough that whatever kept those feelings under control broke under the pressure. She wanted to see him tear at the seams so that maybe in touching him, she could share just a little in his emotion. The desire only grew.

-Minor sexual content-

It was only a matter of time until she acted compulsively.

Azrael had accepted her extra-curricular activities with little fuss, but that did not mean he approved them. It was only in the silent moments they shared that he let his opinions on the matter rest. There was easy contentment between them during such times when Alana leaned against him on the couch with a book in hand. Not yet tired despite the day's events, she abandoned her book to observe her partner. Unbothered by her examination, Azrael continued to read his own book, one that she was sure she'd seen him finish the week before.

The two stayed that way for some time before she moved. There was neither hesitation nor confidence in her movements but a slowness that spoke of curiosity and restrained want as she brought her hand up to trace his cheek with her fingertips. Azrael allowed the action with little reason not to and she shuffled closer, sliding a leg over his own so she could brace her other hand on the back of the couch. Her fingers explored the underside of his chin before wandering over his neck. It wasn't until lips touched his neck that Azrael reacted.

A sharp intake of breath and a shudder before he froze. It was an entirely human response and unnecessary for the man. She revelled in it. The shadow of his humanity still clung to him after so many centuries, much to her undisguised pleasure. She bit down sharply before soothing the love-bite with her tongue. He was cold, but she enjoyed his taste no less. She was far too warm anyway. Another bite a few spaces lower and then above. A hand had wrapped itself around his waist to settle on his back. Her other hand stroked his neck as she placed innocent, taunting kisses along his jaw. He was shaking with small tremors at this point, and she pressed herself closer to comfort him. He was beautiful like this, she decided as she moved to place her mouth where she had wanted to from the start. She could feel his muscled tensing below her as he struggled to keep his hands to himself. Break. She wanted that restraint to break.

"Enough," the voice broke towards the end, but it was no less commanding because of it. She paused almost immediately and pulled back a safe distance from the man. Her hands, however, refused to let go of him. She wanted him deeply. She wanted his war, his secrets, his failings and successes. She wanted his tongue on hers, his hands in her hair, his body on her or under her so long as they were both lost in pleasure. The image made her chest ache, and her body quiver like a tightly strung bow. Sexually frustrated was not a word she would usually use to describe herself, but there were few other words when the thought of him beside her filled her with such intense longing.

-End-

"You are still young, mon amour. I do not wish to hurt you." His accent was thicker than usual, and his eyes faintly pleading as he winced. She stared at him long and hard before giving a resigned sigh. She halted her ministrations and nestled herself in his arms with her head resting against his chest. She was aware, of course, of her body's restrictions. Lack of self-control was no excuse to take it out on him. She was too young for coupling, and at the very least, she should learn a contraceptive spell before she became sexually active. Not that she would need it with Azrael. Vampires couldn't procreate with wand-users unless they were half-breeds.

She could wait. She would wait. Azrael's arms soon found their place around her.


	11. 9) Feather Dusters

**1987 January**

**_Creation: Capricorn IV_**

_Species: Library System_

_Level: 33_

_Capable of mind defence, complex thought and processing 15,300 words per hour. _Efficiency increased by half.

**_Creation: Aquarius III_**

_Species: Inventory System_

_Level: 26_

_Capable of storing 14 objects. Summoning cost decrease doubled._

**_Creation: Pisces II_**

_Species: Healing System_

_Level: 10_

_Magic focus increased x2 Dexterity increased x2_

Alana was annoyed. It was not the small annoyance one might feel when their siblings refused to be quiet, but rather the tempest born of two months of not being contacted by Raoul for a job. Even worse was the snail-pace speed the levelling of her creations had slowed to. She patted Aquarius reassuringly from her perch by an apartment window, not quite sure if it could read her thoughts. To think that she'd sunk so low as to accept muggle requests. It wasn't as though she was low on money, quite the opposite in fact. Alana had easily surpassed the average income of a ministry worker with the number of jobs she accepted. Even while taking at least half of them anonymously or through Greyson, she had managed to gain herself a respectable reputation in the lucrative business of criminal activities.

She drew another breath and Pisces curled tighter around her right arm. Her rifle straightened its trajectory, and she fired. It was with dull eyes that she watched the bullet hit one Archie Tryce. Such mundane methods of murder were, unfortunately, enough to end a muggle's life. Sometimes she thought she would have coped better had her mother been murdered. By a vengeful lover perhaps? But she had not been, and her daughter had seen how truly weak humans could be. It was a choice whether one remained satisfied with their own innate weakness or not though, and she had since decided that she would not. This world would chew her up and spit her out the moment she doubted that decision.

The gun was packed away, and her employer notified without a hitch. The muggle world seemed colourless in comparison to the magical world. Even the shadows of London seemed paler than Knockturn Alleys. Muggles walked to and fro on their daily business without noticing the murderer beside them. It was a stark contrast to the days when most muggles would sneer at her in disgust. She wondered if it had been an instinctual reaction to her magic or if it had been her appearance. She should do a study on that: the reaction of muggles to young magical auras. It would explain why so many were abused in the Harry Potter novels. The black earrings she wore cloaked the identifiable parts of her magic as she continued her march. She needed a drink and by damn right, the fact it was 10 in the morning wouldn't stop her.

Knockturn Alley was busiest in the morning hours than the afternoon. This was largely due to the late business hours of most aristocrats or 'purebloods' as they call themselves. Alana hummed with amusement at the sight of a blonde man being accosted by several stall owners at once. Their money bags brought all the hags to the yard. She slipped into the shadows and continued on her way only to feel the eyes of Esme Reed, tracking her movements. She tilted her head in question and received a come hither gesture in reply. _Well then… _Chuckling, she adjusted her cloak and followed the woman. It was not the first time she had conversed with the hag since her help finding Raoul. In fact, if fate were smiling on her, they would be contacting each other far more frequently. Esme finally stopped.

"I've got twenty-three wanting to help ya. That enough, Sparra?" Alana smiled at the woman. It was the best news she had heard in weeks.

"More than enough, dear Esme. I'm sure you've informed them of the conditions?"

"O' Course. They bloody demanded 'em from me." She gave Alana look that screamed, 'Why would you ask such a stupid question? We're hags, not idiots!'

The matter they were discussing had been brought up a few days ago when Alana had brought up the lack of jobs with the woman. Esme had also divulged her own need for funds to get by and that she had not been able to afford magical crafts for many years. Alana had proposed a business partnership almost immediately. If Raoul could not find deals, then surely the hags could draw some out. They were everywhere, after all, scattered about Europe in small, tightly-knit communities. She would offer a 10% cut to whoever found a job and 5% to Esme for managing it. Any further information would be negotiated for, of course. It seemed there was some interest. She was unsure how profitable it would be, but it was worth a shot.

**1987 March**

**_Creation: Capricorn IV_**

_Species: Library System_

_Level: 35_

_Capable of mind defence, complex thought and processing 15,500 words per hour_

**_Creation: Aquarius III_**

_Species: Inventory System_

_Level: 29_

_Capable of storing 15 objects. Summoning cost decrease doubled._

**_Creation: Pisces II_**

_Species: Healing System_

_Level: 13_

_Magic focus increased x2 Dexterity increased x2_

It had taken Raoul five days to find out about the network. To say that conversation had been awkward for Alana would have been the understatement of the century. If he wasn't scolding her for the hair-brained decision to start a spy network in his backyard, he was asking her if she was planning to usurp him because that's what it looked like. In his words, she had 'acted like a reckless fool in her mindless adrenaline junkie way'. She had weakly protested the description. She considered herself more of a connoisseur of the criminal arts, but her argument was weak with the hard evidence saying otherwise. She had no interest in any near-death experiences, yet she had thrown herself into harm's way because she was impatient. Realising the stupidity of her actions had been painful, but she couldn't refute Raoul's accusations.

Raoul had been livid in every sense of the word. The emotion mainly hinged on the fact that she hadn't even consulted him on the subject but acted with mindless haste. He was mildly placated when she begged him to take over the connections. His warning was one that would stay in her mind for several weeks. She was only a child, so he would give her aid this once, but the next time, he would not be so lenient. It was easy to forget the man was a skilled criminal at times, but at that moment, she had never been more aware of the fact. Everyone knew what happened to the people Raoul cut off. It was a brush with death that she did not care to repeat.

Raoul met with Esme in the backroom, and Alana explained the situation. It was unlikely Esme would be complaining any time soon as she had increased the cut to informants by 5% and still managed to keep her own slice. Her excuse for giving Alana a lower figure had sent a slight shudder down Alana's spine. 'They were friends.' Esme had said the words so naturally that it was a wonder she had never become an actress. While the words were somewhat true, anyone with two brain cells knew a hag wouldn't hinge their decisions on such a flimsy status. Raoul had agreed readily and taken over the reins, integrating the informants with a few of his own and getting a profile of all involved. It was with some thought that he allowed Alana to observe his progress. She had been quietly fascinated at the display of management and the immense skill with which he handled the matter. It was akin to watching an artist sculpt a masterpiece. Raoul was entirely in his element.

She had gotten her first job in what felt like a lifetime in late March.

After a week of preparations and observing the not-so-humble mansion before her, Alana decided she was ready. The building was muggle in design, but there were wards blatantly obvious to anyone who knew what to look for. Nicholas Borges was a wealthy wizard of Italian descent with dark eyes and darker hair. He was also using magic to improve the quality of the goods he was selling to muggles in Britain. While not illegal in Italy, his actions just happened to be illegal in Britain and a blight on the 'legal' muggle businesses owned by purebloods.

Consequently, he was going to die today. Alana cast the panicking and gagged woman at her feet a dry look. It had been far too easy to knock the muggle out - using muggle methods, of course. The use of a wand to harm a muggle was illegal, and her employer had been so very specific. Her skill with this restriction was likely the reason Raoul had given the job to her of all people. After sedating the woman, she stripped her of her entry pass to Borges' storage warehouse. She would take care of that afterwards.

Contrary to common belief, there were a great many magical subjects a person could study that did not involve the use of a wand. The reason so many dismissed them was more than likely the cost. This was also the main reason why Alana had taken so many jobs. After all, potions ingredients and books were in no way cheap. If runes had been her first love, then potions had been her first romp. Its similarities to chemistry and limitless applications had her high and heady after every brew, or perhaps, that was the fumes talking. She had quite happily come across a lovely illegal potion 'Riposare Mente' in a less-than-legal book. The Italian-crafted potion was similar to the imperious curse but of shorter duration and yielded less control. One could implant a single strong suggestion in the mind a few minutes after its ingestion, and it would grow stronger over time. So really, she supposed it was closer to a time-dependent liquid compulsion charm. Alana had dosed one of the security staff for the midday shift, which would start soon. A small smile appeared when the security cameras all turned down.

She entered the building as if she owned the place. It had taken about half an hour to knock out the guards and disable a few of the nastier wards from the outside. The mansion felt more like a mafia's hideout than an overseas home. Maybe Italians were just rich like that? Inside was mostly clear of wards with only a few more potent ones that were easier to disable. The number of wards was of greater concern to her than their quality when most of the ones up were amateur or rushed. She shot another three guards before they could even draw their weapons and yawned as they bled out on the polished floor. She didn't even need to use Pisces. Perhaps the poor fellow she was going to kill just didn't realise his head was wanted. Alana reached the second floor with little issue and checked the cameras again. Well done, Kyle! Still down. Two doors and a right turn. She had already found out the rough layout of the house. Who needs such a large place anyways?! Alana poked a gun into the study to find… nothing. How anticlimactic. It was then that she had an idea.

Several moments later, Alana kicked open a door and pointed her gun at the chest of Nicholas Borges with a demonic cackle. The man was so terrified he pissed himself, which was why it was so fortunate that he was already sitting on a toilet. He was speaking in rapid Italian that Alana could barely understand, let alone translate. His arms were flailing around like a duck which was kind of annoying. She was tempted to pull the trigger, but… her client had been very specific. She summoned the now visible wand he was reaching for with a flick of the wrist and stepped out of the toilet to let him finish his business. Pisces curled lazily around her shoulders, looking more like a docile sea serpent or snake than a fish at that moment. She had trained for a whole year so that she could move objects more accurately only to use the skill on a man using the toilet. It was rather… sad. After about five minutes, Nicholas Borges waddled out. At least he had the sense not to make her wait.

"Please, my familia will pay double, whatever you want if you leave me alone." The whimpering was in poor taste but to be expected. She ignored the pleading and kicked the back of his knees, so he hit the floor. A quick bullet to his leg made sure he wouldn't rise anytime soon.

"I won't make any trouble, please! My family has gone too far! I couldn't take it! The Russos were never supposed to be hurt, they were our allies." Alana quirked an eyebrow expressionlessly at the man.

"I have proof! I have proof! I will give it to you if you spare my life!" Alana paused with a hidden smile and removed her gun. It was curious how targets got more anxious the less you talked.

"Speak."

"I have it on a hard drive in my study! I will go get!"

She followed the man as he limped his way to the room and rummaged for the hard drive. She had her gun out the entire time so he wouldn't get any ideas. The object was in his hands soon enough. She chuckled and reached out to take the offering when the man elbowed her in the stomach. Flash drive in one hand, she doubled over as the gun was ripped from her grasp. Nicholas was quick to aim the gun at his assailant who quickly straightened up to face him but made no movements otherwise. His house had been broken into, his guards likely killed and his assets about to be stolen by a damned kid if the height was good enough to tell by. Did this unseasoned brat really expect him to hand over a hard drive of evidence against his family?! He laughed bitterly. They would get what was coming, but it would be by his hand alone. He pulled the trigger. Silence greeted him. Nothing happened. He tried again. He was trembling at the realisation that the cartridge was empty. He didn't need a kick to the knees to fall this time.

Alana watched reality hit the man like a ton of bricks and sighed with satisfaction. Ah, how cruel. A knife was in her hands before she could blink, and she inserted it quickly into his hand. The scream was delightful to her ears. Another and another and another and… well, she didn't want him bleeding to death. Snot trailed from the male's nose and into his slobbering mouth. The annoyance she had felt at his attempt to turn the tables had been soothed somewhat. Aquarius leapt into her arms, and she stroked the slime softly while murmuring a few words of endearment. The creature jiggled happily in reply. The slime then pounced on the man and pushed itself into his body through his mouth, nose and ears.

"Now is fine," Alana purred sweetly. The order was unnecessary, but it was satisfying to know her creatures would forever be content to fulfil their creator's will. Aquarius secreted a colourless, odourless and bitter powder. Strychnine. The man twisted in vain to dislodge the creature and the slime detached quickly, having already accomplished its task.

You could tell the moment the poison kicked in. The man's body writhed on the ground, his mouth opening to emit choked sobs. His body convulsed, shaking wildly and contorting as the neurotoxin stimulated his spinal nerves. The neurotoxin was a naturally-occurring poison sourced from the seeds of the Styrchnos-nux-vomica tree. Alana had already taken a seat and observed the progression with morbid fascination. To think that such a thing was commercially available as a pesticide. After a while, the novelty of the man's twisting spine began to wane, and Alana decided to make use of the computer in the man's study to check the hard drive. Lo and behold, the shady fucker was telling the truth. She whistled appreciatively at the files stored on the device. Someone would pay a pretty price for them no doubt. She double-checked on the man. His sobs had stopped at least. She drew a blade and decided the clients request of 'death by torture' was vague enough to allow some time reduction.

She dragged the blade carefully down his chest putting just enough pressure on it to break the skin. His shirt was removed as her image took form. A bloody feather was carved with a large central shaft (rachis) lined with paired branches (barbs). She slit his throat after finishing. His wand was useless in her hands, but she was sure she could find a use for it eventually. Maybe as a feather duster?


	12. 10) French Exploits

**1988 April**

**_Creation: Capricorn IV_**

_Species: Library System_

_Level: 39_

_Capable of mind defence, complex thought and processing 15,900 words per hour. Efficiency increased by half._

**_Creation: Aquarius IV_**

_Species: Inventory System_

_Level: 6_

_Capable of storing 26 objects. Summoning cost decrease tripled._

**Ding!**

**_Notification: Evolution!_**

_Healing System: Pisces II has evolved to Pisces III level 0! Magic focus increased x2 Dexterity increased x2 Precision increased x2_

_New form processing…_

**_Creation: Pisces III_**

_Species: Healing System_

_Level: 0_

_Magic focus increased x2 Dexterity increased x2 Precision increased x2_

Two gold eyes creased in pleasure at the notification. Pisces had been the hardest creature to evolve thus far. It was a relief to see her work had finally paid off. Azrael turned merlot eyes to regard his companion carefully. In his hands was the french newspaper, Le Figaro, where an article on the brutal murder of Antonio Vermont took up the front page. Alana squirmed under his gaze. There was little doubt who had been responsible for those hits. They had been in France for barely three weeks, but Alana had already done a few jobs Raoul had suggested to her. Azrael's eyes narrowed, and his pupils dilated in interest. She froze at the unexpected heat in his gaze and blanched. '_This guy… He can't possibly be turned on by murder?'_ She checked again and cried in mental anguish. _'Dear Azrael, how could you betray me so?! Were you not the voice of reason in this household?!'_ Sadly, Azrael was deaf to her thoughts.

The trip to France had been the suggestion of Azrael who had some business to take care of and a friend to visit. She was rather surprised at his sudden manifestation of passports, but Azrael was anything but ill-prepared. First, they would visit France, then Germany, and finally, Romania. Alana had anticipated the excursion for weeks. She had already mediated several contracts with Raoul who had expanded his network greatly in the past year. Despite some of his newfound connections being in Britain, Raoul had followed through with his decision to move to France. His hold on Britain was still present but had loosened over the past month with some of the more experienced thieves and mercenaries taking over their respective areas of expertise. Alana had easily taken up a mediatory position in the ranks as a jack of all trades despite her apparent youth. A few of her contacts had been hesitant over her decision to travel, but she held none of their worries. She would leave a path of blood in her wake with the odd feather to keep her magic sharp. Being captured was hardly a concern when the majority of her contracts came from those with power.

Germany was the country she looked forward to the most. The reason? The German ministry didn't place traces in their wands, and it was in that country that the famed wandmaker Mykew Gregorovitch resided. Though the man's wands could be purchased in other European countries, it was only at Gregorovitch Zauberstäbe that he custom made. His reputation was on equal footing with Ollivander, so she had leapt at the chance to purchase a hopefully well-matched magical tool. The commission price was something she chose not to think about.

On the subject of magical tools, Alana had discovered a few rather interesting books on the integration of magic and music while in France. It had been enlightening to know many used rune-embedded instruments to influence the psyche. The effects were weak, of course, but effective in long-term therapy treatments and as a relaxant. Azrael had practically purred in contentment at her interest in the subject and encouraged it fully. Aside from her rekindled love affair with her violin, the young witch had also been busy acquiring foreign spell books for when she got a wand. It didn't hurt to be prepared, after all. She had been reading a book on the basics of wandlore while Azrael read the morning paper.

"I think it is, perhaps, about time we make our way to Germany?" His eyes gleamed sharply with dark promise as he smiled. His Alana was such a fascinating creature. He looked forward to seeing what she would do next.

**1988 April**

It was times such as this that Alana second-guessed her obsession with potions. She had been tracking a particularly troublesome target when she found out that she was the one being hunted. It was the first time Raoul's contracts had gone wrong for her. The girl stifled another moan as she crawled into her bed after a cold shower that did nothing. She had followed a wizard into a backroom to record a certain conversation but instead found herself drugged. Thankfully, Pisces had given her enough focus to beat the shit out of the wizard, rob him blind, and then crawl back home. Which is how she had ended up in her present pitiful state of semi-undress. It would take a night for this particular potion to wear off.

-Sexual Content-

Alana shoved her shirt up experimentally and placed a cool hand on her stomach to rub the heated skin there. She wished she could call for Azrael for some comfort, but this particular issue was one he would be unable to, or rather, unwilling to solve. She sighed as she rubbed the skin gently. A fingertip grazed the bud of her nipple, and she shuddered. Heat was swiftly pooling in her gut as she envisioned precisely what she wanted at that moment. She circled her developing breasts slowly and relaxed. She would have to take care of this herself. Fingers deftly tugged on the nipple, and she moaned softly as she groped the small lumps on her chest. Her humble assets were just beginning to blossom. A hand slipped to trace her lower abdomen, and she spread her legs wantonly. Fuck, she wanted Azrael right now. Her folds were already soaked from the aphrodisiac, and she moaned as she gently bucked her hips. She cupped her mound and bit her lip before releasing it only to apply more pressure. Her pants were slipped off quickly as she started to trace the area over her underwear with burning fingertips. She slipped a digit in underneath and groaned as it cut across her sensitive area. She swirled it and revelled in the pleasure it induced. Soon she was thrusting her fingers deeper.

Alana was so caught up that she didn't notice the door open to display her body fully opened across from it. When she did catch Azrael's eyes, she bit her lip and thrust again. Gods. If he wanted to watch, then she'd welcome him. The thought almost made her cream herself. She continued her ministrations as he stepped inside the room. The door was closed before he settled himself behind her and practically dragged her in between his spread legs. He placed a gentle hand on her inner thighs and rubbed slow circles. She moaned and shut her eyes at the tease, rubbing herself faster. She wanted to scream in frustration when he pulled her hands away, but they were soon replaced by his own long, blessedly cold fingers. He breathed in her scent before entering her molten core. Pleasure. She was so wet that she felt nothing but pleasure as he thrust the first and then second digit in. She envisioned a far more pleasurable limb in her as he inserted himself roughly. His fingers entered before pulling out to circle her labia and clitoris. Her moans were as demanding as the pale limbs he wielded with unearthly grace.

In and out. In and out. The smell of arousal and sex permeated the room. She felt her limit nearing. Closer and closer with no end in sight. Then she glimpsed it, the precipice, the climax Azrael pushed her towards. She came with her head thrown back in pleasure and his hands buried deep inside her throbbing channel. He nuzzled her contentedly, continuing to grind his arousal behind her. He reached his release a few minutes after. Alana leaned back as she felt her body begin to heat up again and twisted to rub herself against his leg while palming his erection. Like hell, she would let him have all the fun. Drugged or not, she would see just how human his reactions could get.

-Ends-

**1988 May**

Maple, twelve inches, flexible, dragon heartstring. The wand had been acquired after a long visit to the wandmaker. Gregorovitch had been less enthused by the end product than she had. 'Impossible,' He had called her. He had, however, ensured her that the wand was a good a fit as she would get with the ingredients he had. Alana had accepted the wand and paid for his time in full nonetheless. She could feel the wood's core warm in her grasp and felt it sufficient to begin her studies. She was already eleven and turning twelve that October so she had much to learn. She lacked the resources of Hogwarts, but they paled in comparison to the freedom available to her. Had she enrolled, the ministry would be unlikely to accept a vampire as her guardian regardless of her blood status. Racial pride and all that.

**Ding!**

**_Notification: Evolution!_**

_Library System: Capricorn IV has evolved to Capricorn V level 0 capable of mind defence, complex thought and processing 16000 words per hour + 100 words per level. New Skill: Legilimency (Active)_

**Ding!**

**_Notification: New Skill: Legilimency (Active)_**

_The art of infiltrating the mind of another is now accessible._

The series of prompts caused Alana to choke on her hot chocolate. Hacking away at the burning sensation in her throat, the girl almost fell into the Danube river. Damned notifications always scared the wits out of her. She growled much to the alarm of a passing couple who tactfully sidestepped the deranged child. Alana glared at the screen before her interest drowned her annoyance. Legilimency was something she had known of but put on the backburner since the study was notoriously difficult, and potion substitutes for certain applications she needed were available. She pursed her lips thoughtfully. The mind arts were seemingly highly compatible with her magic if her system ability was any indication, yet she lacked expertise in one of its main branches of study, Legilimency.

She stroked the wand in her arm sheath with a determined nod. That would not last for long. Despite the fall of Grindelwald, Germany was still a hotbed for dark arts activists and home to a great variety of literature related to more grey arts. Therefore, finding books on the mind arts would require little to no effort on Alana's part. She began her studies with fervour bound only by respectful caution of the magic at her fingertips.

Some weeks later found her at a children's park slipping quietly into the mind of a young girl currently unsupervised by her parents. Children were easiest to practice on with their smaller minds and the higher likelihood of recovery should she make a mistake.

She had learnt that Legilimency could be roughly divided into two styles. The first she had dubbed 'mind rape' with a brute force approach that violated the target thoroughly. The second was the more gentle 'mind scan' which recovered more recent surface thoughts with no deep diving. Obviously, she was starting with the first. It was not the most interesting thing to learn where a child had hidden their boogers, but slow progress was better than no progress at all. She may have unlocked the skill but reason to become complacent. The mind was a fragile thing, and her skill required honing and a lot of it, considering she could barely scan a two-year-olds head without breaking out in a sweat. Still, her progress was relatively quick with Capricorn's help in processing the usually overwhelming surge of information one was hit with when scanning. It was similar to walking through snow in that the thoughts had to be processed and shovelled away before you could move further. It was draining but rewarding.


	13. 11) The Romanians

They arrived in Romania in early July. By that point, Alana could safely say that she hated planes. The mode of transport was possibly worse than using a portkey and took far too long. Customs, while a necessary evil, was still an evil. She looked forward to learning to apparate once her core matured. Azrael had found a small hostel in Bucharest, and she had gratefully face-planted into the prepared bed with a sigh. She hadn't booked any jobs for the next month, instead opting to spend the time with her vampire. Romania was renowned for its myths of Transylvanian vampires, and she was curious if there was any truth to the legends. Azrael had been unusually tight-lipped on the subject even when she was pressing herself against him suggestively. Because of this, it was no surprise she perked up at the knock on their room's door and dashed to answer it. The raven-haired youth that greeted her was not what she expected.

"Marius Mardare," Vincent intoned as he placed a hand on her shoulder and guided her away from the door. She complied easily and observed the man curiously from the side as Azrael invited him into the living room. He was barely nineteen in appearance but had the unmistakable air of a vampire. It was the first time she had me one other than Azrael.

Alana observed the man who reciprocated the attention with equal, if not greater, interest. Marius hid his shock well. A child barely eleven years in Vincent de Azrael's home was more of a jolt to his system than his expression suggested. Had the years turned the old man senile?

"Vincent," he greeted the vampire in return and settled into the offered seat. The girl settled in one barely two metres away. Perhaps, she did not know what he was then? Vincent made a rather strange noise as he sat and the girl seemed to still. She glanced at him attentively before standing and repositioning herself closer to the elder vampire. More specifically, in his lap. He did not bother hiding his surprise this time. His expression was a far improvement from gaping at least.

"Marius, this is my dear, Alana. Alana, this is my friend Marius." The words sent him reeling. '_Friend?! What friend?! When had he ever agreed to be familiar with this fiend?! Who was dear?!'_ The girl didn't even blink at the endearment and offered him a friendly smile. What was going on here?! He was starting to regret knocking.

"Nice to meet you. I've never met a vampire other than Azrael before."

Ah, there went his dead soul. The conversation stilled after that and Alana eventually removed herself from Azrael as she left to read. Marius' eyes followed her as she left, but they were unreadable.

Two days later, Marius visited again. Vincent had already left that morning to take care of some business, so it was Alana who answered the door in pyjamas.

"Oh, it's you." The disappointed eyes seemed to dismiss Marius with ease. She opened the door, and he felt his body entering despite his better judgement.

"Azrael is not here?" He already knew from the lack of presence in the apartment but asked out of politeness.

"He's out." Short and curt. He was beginning to see how the two could inhabit the same breathing space so harmoniously. There were a few seconds of silence before he asked the question that had been weighing on his mind for some time. The answer could be potentially dangerous, but he had a propensity for danger, so he went for it.

"If you don't mind me asking, what exactly is your relationship with Vincent?"

"I could ask the same of you."

Hesitation and then, "He sired me millennia ago." 'If you could call being bitten on the battlefield by the enemy siring,' he thought bitterly.

"I let him drink from me," She offered and gracefully took a seat. Meanwhile, Marius choked silently.

"A vampire-muggle bonding?" He asked incredulously. What strange circumstances had lead to such a thing? Surely, Azrael would not bend so low as to bond with food.

Alana frowned at the tone before she replied evenly, "I'm a witch, not a muggle."

The silence was crippling as Marius processed that bit of information. He took a seat shakily and found a glass of whiskey being placed in his hand. The noise of surprise was silenced when he saw the eleven-year-old with a drink of her own already half down. Alana knew most vampires could tolerate alcohol quite well, although it was no blood substitute.

"You… Do you even know who you made a bond with?!"

That was how the conversation had started, and it would not end until some hours later that evening. Marius proved to be a wealth of information and more than willing to snitch on his sire. Vincent de Azrael had been born in France millennia ago. Though he was most recognisable for his service as a Spanish conquistador, he had also partaken in the French Inquisition and a number of older wars. He had played a major role in the formation of the still rigid ties between the French, Spanish and Italian vampire covens. The triumvirate of Europe as it were. His departure had shocked everyone as much as his destination, the British Isles.

He had practically been given immunity by the three covens, and most vampires steered clear of the country out of either respect or fear. It had been millennia, but stories were still told of the man's accomplishments. Alana had absorbed the information quietly, secretly cherishing the tales of her companion's life. Vincent certainly wasn't the vampire he once was, but the past had made him who he was today. She had eventually told Azrael of her childhood, so she didn't feel nearly as bad as she would have hearing about his private affairs. The conversation ended abruptly with Azrael's return that afternoon. He walked in on the pair and found his arms full of Alana before he could manifest the anger that had flared at the scene. Alana herself had felt no need to explain the words shared by Marius and had instead opted to express her joy at his return in a more physical manner. Needless to say, Marius had left quickly.

**1988 July**

Alana could see why so many vampires flocked to Romania. It truly was a beautiful country, though its resources were a far more noticeable advantage. Fertile lands, forests, the Black Sea coastline and mountainous ranges made up its topography. The temperate and climate also suited her well. It was a shame, though, that the two covens inhabiting the area fought so frequently.

There were two very distinct groups in the area as Azrael understands it. The first was the coven of the Wallachia plains whose territory they were currently in. They were the older group and more conservative than the other. This was the coven which Marius belonged to. The second was a younger coven situated in the Apuseni mountains on the edge of the Transylvanian Basin. The conflict between the groups had been going on for centuries and seemed unlikely to end soon.

Alana's smile was carefree as she strolled in Herăstrău Park where the Colentina River formed a gorgeous lake. Her heart became calm with the scenery, and the restlessness that usually afflicted her limbs vanished. She had not been so close to nature since the death of Alexis, and the thought pained her some. Her mind was filled with thoughts of the soothing waters and memories of her time spent with Azrael in the recent week. It was inevitable that the peace wouldn't last so she cherished while it was there.

She returned from her morning walk with a smile adorning her face. Whatever youth had deserted her seemed to have returned with the excursion. Envisioning Azrael's reaction to her joyful aura, she cackled wickedly in her mind. Perhaps, he'd think she'd been possessed? The hotel manager didn't bother to greet the girl, so she entered without any interruptions.

The wooden door revealed a sight that made her stiffen in alarm. Broken furniture was strewn across the floor with the obvious signs of a struggle. Azrael hadn't left with her after that morning's feeding but the idea of anyone lasting long enough in a conflict with him to cause such chaos, even if he was in a weakened state after feeding, seemed impossible. She picked up a fractured plate and tried to quell the panic the room invoked._ 'More than one assailant. Vampires most likely and no magic used.'_ Finding her rationality, she analysed the situation. The shard of the plate was digging into her palm, a reminder to stay focused. What had happened here?

Marius fidgeted as he approached the girl from behind. The earrings he had finally realised to be black tourmaline, did little to hide the waves of barely restrained rage and panic that rolled off of her person. Azrael was already gone. He froze as she whirled on him with livid, condemning eyes. If the reaction speed was any indication, he had underestimated the length of time his sire had been bonded to her. A chill ran down his spine. Vampire-wizard bonds were not to be trifled with, he knew that much.

"I didn't know this would happen," He stuttered. "I was to inform the coven of my sire's presence. It's mandatory, you see. But they…" He couldn't put what he had seen into words. The coven leader, Consus, had dismissed him quickly to convene with his council. But he had witnessed the calculated glint flashing in the man's eyes. They had struck after Azrael's feeding, the time when a vampire was at their weakest acclimating to the new blood. The effects would have been worse with witch blood and the magic it carried.

The male had put up a hard fight, but he was outnumbered and at half strength after feeding. They had dragged him to Poenari cliffside castle, the original home of Vlad the impaler and headquarters of the coven. Marius had fled barely two minutes into the ritual when he realised what was happening. He was only a lower member in the coven and hadn't had the strength to halt the others. Azrael was damned.

Alana shoved the vampire into the nearest wall with a burst of magic when she heard his words.

"Where. Is. He." She bit the syllables out, barely noticing his lack of protest.

"Poenari Castle. They…" The rest of the sentence was drowned out by the pain that racked her body. It was excruciating and turned her vision white. Loss, anger, betrayal. A vision of severed limbs, blood and magic had her crashing into the floor. She could feel the weakness that came from a recent feeding, the blood still coating her throat. She was gasping now as tears poured unchallenged down her cheeks. Her cries were mournful, denying the truth. Every fibre of her being protested the images in her mind until she burned with the knowledge. A sob and she was wailing with emotional pain. Her hands gripped the carpet as the bond that had held her to Azrael frayed with effort. _He was breaking it! He was tearing it from her soul, and she knew, even if she could move, she could have done nothing to stop it._

Marius watched the heartbreaking scene with wide eyes. He was unaware of what was happening in the girl's mind, but he knew the vampire-wizard bond would allow neither to pass with the peace of the other. Images of bloody runes resurfaced from his memories. A body was writhing at the centre of an intricate configuration. Then it burned. A vampire was weak to fire, but these flames were not meant to kill, but cause immense pain. A weaker man would have screamed at the torture.

Alana twisted in pain as a limb was torn from her - no Azrael's - body and brought to the fanged mouth of a vampire. She shook with rage, pain and sorrow at the vision. She felt weak and drained as her body failed to keep up with the demands of her mind. The arm was passed around like communion, and each vampire took a bite. Blood trickled darkly from their fanged mouths as she burned their faces into her memory. The ritual was tearing Azrael's soul apart in offering to the immortals.

Marius remembered the pages on which he had seen this ritual. It seemed an eternity ago when he had been perusing Azrael's collection and found the notebook written by Victoria Frankenstein. A modified dark ritual rumoured to allow a vampire to consume the soul of another. The stolen soul would manifest as a magical core according to the scripts. Azrael had called it foolish as it would only enhance and existing core and not create one. If a vampire had a core already, they could just as easily restore their magic by feeding on a magical. Such was the practice in Russia where vampire-wizard bonds were the social norm.

Marius had been sick to his stomach when he recognised the ritual. It involved burning the victim to keep them on the brink of destruction while their body was slowly devoured alive. An act of cannibalism sacrilegious to a race that prized the sanctity of blood. A vampire could tell a murderer and magical from just a sniff of their blood so long as it wasn't cloaked as Alana's was.

Alana felt her mind jolt when the connection was suddenly severed. He was dying. He was destroyed and refused to drag her down with him. Her eyes were mirky, and her body numb with disbelief. She felt empty as the presence of the bond vanished. It felt as though someone had ripped her soul out and shoved it back in. A cold void crawled at the back of her mind. She wondered if Death was laughing at her agony.

"Azrael." The name passed through chapped lips, but the call sounded hollow even to her own ears.


	14. 12) Danse Macabre

**1988 July**

It was half an hour before Alana could move without crumbling to the floor in grief. Her hands still shook with the effort. She gave Marius a glance with empty eyes before she shoved past him to grab her luggage and exit the building. He hurried after her silently. Aquarius was summoned with a twist of her wrist. A vial collected the ageing potion he secreted, and she downed it mindlessly. Fifteen minutes saw her in the front seat of a stolen car wearing clothes that she had packed for such occasions. Marius was still trailing after her awkwardly, and he slid into the shotgun seat of the noisy vehicle with a grimace. Alana was hardly the only magical being to loathe muggle transportation.

"Where are we going?" The question was asked two hours later as they sped towards the Carpathian mountain chain which separated the Wallachian Plains from the Transylvanian Basin.

"Apuseni Mountains," Was the monotone reply. Marius stiffened understandably. He would be gutted alive if he was caught trespassing on the other coven's territory. And he would be caught. He had killed enough of their brethren that no charmed amulet would mask the stench of their blood on his hands. He accompanied her in silence. It was a crime to turn his back on his sire regardless of the situation. He had already failed Azrael, he would not do the same with this child.

Five more hours and he considered it a wonder the vehicle had not broken down. He briefly wondered whether the witch had used magic on the thing. Alana was cloaked in black with the usual mask she donned for her jobs. She had trembled while adorning it, brief images of Azrael's corpse flashing behind her eyelids. The Apuseni Mountains, also known as the mountains of sunset, were located to the west of the Transylvanian Basin. The landscape was picturesque and adorned with immense forests, fresh rivers and the odd dramatic cliff. It was unfortunate the neither could appreciate the scenery. Their presence was noted less than an hour after they had begun walking. Marius had shuffled closer to girl uneasily hoping she had some semblance of a plan in mind, but the witch merely continued unaffected in the direction of Bihor peak. The vampire escort watched the pair somewhat offended at the shorter figure's disregard. The person obviously didn't put them in their eyes!

Marius shivered as they passed through the heavy illusion that protected the coven's meeting hall. The magic was ancient but still standing from a time when witches and wizards had reluctantly signed a treaty with the vampires to preserve the secrecy of magic. It was maintained by regular blood donations from the vampires and identifiably dark in nature. The uneasy peace between wizards and vampires was mostly born of their lacking number, but many still remembered the past bloodshed between the groups with fear.

The court building was an enormous stone structure with clear traces of Roman influence in its architecture. Alana shared none of his terror as their following made themselves known. Instead, there was a calmness in her stance that had never been there before. She stood with the same dangerous, detached ease Raoul often did despite being surrounded on all sides. She was a woman with nothing to lose. The interior of the building was reminiscent of a Russian palace and excessively elaborate in decoration. There were several thrones in the main room with only six occupied by vampires. Two women took up the right seats of power, one with stiff posture while the other was elegantly draped across the piece of furniture. One of the male leaders watched the proceedings with boredom while the other two held a detached curiosity in their gazes. This was the vampire court of the second coven of Romania. Alana fell into a bow easily, and Marius followed suit and prayed no one lopped his head off while he wasn't looking.

"Greetings to the Apuseni Court," Alana broke the silence with her hollow voice.

"We do not welcome those of Wallachia," One of the men sneered. His nostrils flared at the stench of blood. Marius steeled himself further.

"Would you greet any non-vampire if they were not with one?" Alana questioned. She received a hiss in reply. Taking that as a sign to continue, she began, "Both my companion and I have both found issues with the actions of Wallachia. They have spilt the blood of those we call kin, and I fully intend to repay the favour. I only wish to inquire as to whether Apuseni will deal with the aftermath?"

The reactionary laughter did not put Alana off in the least.

"Who are you to speak of blood?! Have we not lost far more at the hands of those retches?!" It was unexpectedly the relaxed woman that replied with anger. It seemed to unsettle the others. Marius swallowed thickly. Rienne had fought countless battles on the frontlines. He had once witnessed her tear a vampire in two. Such was her reputation that he was mentally screaming at Alana to stop provoking them.

The girl in question simply removed her earrings in answer. The danger of the ministry tracing her was non-existent outside of the country, and she had never spilt vampire blood, so she had little to fear from the coven on the grounds of blood. She had, however, spilt the blood of magicals and muggles alike and that information was what reached the nostrils of every vampire present. The scent, however, was easily overpowered by Azrael's stronger claim.

The reactions were instantaneous. Any thoughts of feeding from the witch expired in that second. They had not had a witch in their presence for millennia nor one with such youthful blood and magic connected to an old vampire. The younger ones present in the background choked on the strength of the aura while the elder ones shifted in interest. A wizard-vampire bond in Europe. One with a child no less. Marius was giving her a wide-eyed look and pleading for mercy to whatever deity that had cursed him with such a ruthless child and sire. Alana rolled her shoulders with a sigh as she extended her aura outwards comfortably. The room suddenly felt much smaller.

"If the Apuseni coven has no interest in distributing the spoils, I shall leave them for the vultures to pick."

"What do you want?" Vampires were long-lived creatures, and many had old wealth and riches. The spoils of war would be great indeed. What price did the child want?

"My library needs filling and any magical tools found which are of no use to you I will gladly take. I have no interest in the rest."

**1988 August**

A mere four days later saw Alana equipping herself for battle as the sun began to set on Romania. Aquarius sat quietly in wait beside her. The coven had been celebrating for the previous week with excessive feeding as they continued to digest the vampire in their stomach. She was not kind enough to refuse the opportunity to strike when they were weak. They would be at half capacity adjusting to Azrael's blood. It was just a matter of strategic planning.

"If any of them escape just throw this at them," She had handed Marius a few pouches of herbs before heading to the Arges River. The eagle nest fortress the Wallachia coven owned overlooked the river from Poenari cliff. The ancient illusion ward hiding the place was similar to the one in Apuseni. However, it had to be said that ancient didn't always translate to strong, and there were clear methods to evade the vampire's blood-based wards. She quickly donned an amulet soaked in a few potions as well as part of a sachet of Marius' collected blood. Blood that had passed through his system to be specific.

It would give her twenty minutes before the old magic sensed her if she was lucky. She scaled the cliff with Pisces pressed against her skin like a tattoo beneath her jacket. An overhang had her quickening her movements to make up for the lost time. She reached the top and mentally patted her back. _'That was some wuxia level footwork,_' she congratulated herself before pulling out a wand. The walls of the fortress were cursed to high heavens against anything and everything, unlike the cliffs. Tactfully, she threw Aquarius at the stone and cast a silencing spell. She hoped her plan would work.

A rumble and then, "Burp! Pop! Glug, glug, glug, pleugh!" She gave Aquarius a pitying look at his loss of purity to the ancient, cursed stone of the citadel wall. She winced at the disturbing sounds coming from her companion. She would definitely have to make it up to the creature in the future. This was animal abuse, damn it. Twelve minutes saw the slime turn a dark black from the cursed wall. Its inventory slots were bursting with stone and whatever other materials made the damned structure. She'd let the poor thing dump it later. Alana used the remainder of Marius' blood and her wand to coat the newly formed hole with hastily scrawled runes before slipping safely through.

Her footsteps were swift and light with silencing spells woven into every object on her person. Even her breathing was unheard with the face mask covering her mouth. Lastly, _protego aer_ was cast. It was a simple spell which filtered the air within a one-metre radius of the caster. It was mainly used as an air freshener but had multiple applications besides masking her scent. Most of these were dependent on the strength of the casting.

Vampires were weakest after feeding, but their senses were not dulled in the least, only their speed and strength. It had taken little convincing to get Marius to provide the layout and timetable of the castle's activities. Consequently, she knew exactly where she was going and that most of the vampires were currently feeding. The black figure leapt from turret to wall with ease. Meanwhile, Aquarius went to work. Alana encountered the few vampires not feeding with the sharp blade of an experienced assassin. A silencing charm and then a short_inflamare_ seared the vampire's insides where the wand was inserted into the wound. Stealth would always be her number one asset.

She found Azrael's remains in the same place she had envisioned him and fell to clasp the man's skull reverently. Bones were all that was left of her lover and friend. She bit back tears as she knelt on the bloody pavement. He had left her too soon. The room was a cellar of sorts, close enough to the building's ward stone to draw its energy for the ritual. It was a horrible place to die, especially for someone so dear to her. She gathered the remains into a bag and shattered the rune formation with a burst of potent magic. The only rest for this coven tonight would be a permanent one.

Twenty minutes was up.

She made her way up the stairs as the wards recognised an intruder and turned a startling red. The coven's celebration in the main hall was halted abruptly. The moment a vampire opened the door to enter the courtyard, however, the air was pierced by screams.

Alana considered herself a generous person. Her assassinations were brutal, but her targets nearly always criminals themselves. Her thieving was less innocent but, more often than not, she was stealing an object of illegal origins anyway. Perhaps, Raoul was also generous, in his own way, to always offer her such jobs. This though… she drew the line at Azrael. He was family. He was important to her, and they had trampled on his dignity and desecrated his body. The coven had broken their own sacred laws and cherished blood ties by killing their own member's sire. They were less than criminals in her opinion, they were beasts to be culled.

She could have left them to the triumvirate of Europe or simply told the Apuseni of their current weakness. She had little doubt that at least one of them would be willing to avenge Azrael. However, greed had always been her biggest shortcoming as well as her biggest motivation. Azrael was hers. She had laid her claim in silent hours of companionship and cautious touches, in hushed discussion and understanding smiles. Alana let the nerve toxin spread and felt satisfaction at their pain. If poison was a coward's weapon, then she would bear the title proudly if it meant Azrael was avenged. They had poisoned her with grief, and it was only fitting that she return the favour.

Sarin was a clear, colourless, and tasteless liquid that Germany had developed as a pesticide in 1938 and weaponised in the World War. It was also very illegal. As a gas, it dispersed into its environment and once inhaled, it would repeatedly stimulate a body's nerve cell receptors causing seizures. Half of the vampires who came in contact with the vapour immediately fell to the pavement twitching with newly acquired blood running from their constricted eyes, noses, mouths and sweat glands. The effects would not last long though and were even numbed by the quickly adapting body vampirism gave.

They were weakened, but they could still fight.

It was with a decisive mind that Alana wove through the masses and struck the vulnerable bodies of each vampire. Death came quickly to those intelligent enough not to run. Unfortunately, those were few in number. The youth gave chase with the instincts of a predator in her natural habitat. Her movements were filled with unnatural grace that easily outclassed the weakened vampires. She had turned the massacre into a concerto dedicated to Azrael. Her rendition of Danse Macabre. Black descended on the proclaimed immortals as their souls were reaped with merciless efficiency.

Elsewhere, Death was watching its child with avid fascination. She was perfection in its eyes, biased as it was. A soul of such strength that it had quivered with the urge to see it crushed by its hands. The soul had been beautiful in its acceptance, clinging to it at the end despite knowing what Death was, what it could do to it. And, oh, how it knew. Had Death not tried to twist that small existence into insanity before drawing it into the confines of its darkness. Death's entourage murmured in appreciation behind the being. Chaos, Pain and Decay were naturally inclined to appreciate their leader's child. Fate was also present and gazed at the proceedings with mild interest. She personally thought Death's choice to be lacking but let the intransigent being be. She rolled her dice once again and gazed at the child with disappointment. Such a shame.

Marius circled the edges of the wards in agitation. He heard nothing thanks to the rudimentary, rune-based silencing ward the girl had put around the fortress' own illusionary wards. It was the better part of an hour before he heard a snap and felt a figure flee past him in the darkness. The parcel of herbs was thrown, and he stared as an assassin vine erupted from the package where it hit the earth. The vampire was trapped and mercilessly strangled to death by the violent plant. Marius shivered. Alana had prepared the seed and a number of growth-enhancing herbs in the sachet knowing the plant would sprout only when it had earth to draw life from. Assassin vines were extremely violent and, as their name suggests, would kill any living thing that came close to it.

Alana leaned away from the clawed nails and brought her wand up to propel the vampire backwards with a concentrated blast of magical force. Had she been more skilled, she would have already cast _fiendfyre _or a less magic consuming propulsion charm. In time, she would learn. The girl hurled Aquarius at a rising vampire. He was promptly crushed by the same cursed stone that formed the fortress's walls. Pisces poked his head out to snap at a female vampire. The summon was harmless, but she appeared threatening enough to cause the woman to retreat a step, and that was all she needed. Alana was knocked back by a force she felt to be magic, though it was weak. She met the eyes of the coven leader from across the courtyard and smirked as she decapitated another writhing body. She was not foolish enough to be distracted by the man who had no wand. Patience was a virtue. Aquarius was spraying chlorine trifluoride at the prone forms available to it, and soon a multitude of burning corpses paved the way to Consus. The vampire saw the state of his coven but seemed resolved to go down with his proverbial ship and take her with him. Alana was loathed to give him the satisfaction, but there was little alternative. She wanted his head.

She shoved the man to the ground with a dragonhide boot and snarled. This was the first person she had ever felt compelled to kill out of hatred in this life and the past. Her magic whirled in an uncontrolled frenzy before it tore across the man's skin as though it were a feral animal. Alana felt her core burn in protest and bit her lip in frustration. She was reaching the limit of her stamina. She reinstated her control over the energy and shoved it into the significantly older male. The tendrils of Death that clung to the vampire could be felt by the girl, and she shoved them away in the search for his core. That once frail bond with Azrael seemed to ignite with life, and she pulled. She pulled with every ounce of her being even when her own scream tore from her chest to join that of Consus. Then suddenly, it was free, and she was stepping back from the body of Consus as the very soul he had stolen tore him apart with an unholy fury. Alana was half crying in relief at her partner's justice. Perhaps, now she could finally rest. She swayed on her feet with multiple bruises and cuts stinging her body. Not yet. She still had a few tasks to complete. With that thought, she turned to round up the stragglers.


	15. 13) Foreign Affairs

**1989 August**

**_Creation: Capricorn V_**

_Species: Library System_

_Level: 8_

_Capable of mind defence, complex thought and processing 16800 words per hour. New Skill: Illegimency (Active)_

**_Creation: Aquarius IV_**

_Species: Inventory System_

_Level: 18_

_Capable of storing 29 objects. Summoning cost decrease tripled._

**_Creation: Pisces III_**

_Species: Healing System_

_Level: 13_

_Magic focus increased x2 Dexterity increased x2 Precision increased x2_

It had been a year since the events in Romania, and despite Azrael's death, the world seemed content to keep moving. The Apuseni coven had been shocked, to say the least when she'd returned with the scent of the blood of their enemies clinging to her form. The fear had been instinctive and expected, but Rienne was, fortunately, level headed enough to realise that the witch meant them no harm. The woman herself had lost many and knew grief could make or break a person. She was somewhat relieved Alana appeared to not have suffered the latter.

Marius had accepted exile as his punishment with a disarmingly pleased smile. It was lenience extended due to his role in ending the coven and one he was most grateful for. He had little attachment to his former coven despite having spent a significant number of his years with them. It had been some years since he had travelled alone, however, and he was anxious at the prospect. The coven had sorted the properties of those fallen easily and had even gone so far as to offer Alana one of their estates in the mountain ranges. Alana had accepted it graciously, mostly because she had no way to carry the large volume of books and odd magical items she had recently acquired back to London. She had quite openly gaped when they'd shown her the collection before her features rearranged themselves into a rather hungry look.

Returning home had been an arduous affair. She'd had to sneak across the border into Bulgaria and purchase a ludicrously priced international portkey along with a bottomless bag that emptied the better half of what travel funds she had placed in Aquarius. She had cried genuine tears at the loss of the money and gained some concerned looks from the shopkeeper. Still, she had returned to Romania to find out that bottomless bags were not quite so bottomless and were only able to take two-thirds of her treasure trove. Marius had also tagged along after some thought. With the coven's promised silence on the specifics regarding the identity of both Marius and Alana, they had returned to Britain peacefully. Unknown to her, the Apuseni toasted to the absence of their frightening ally that night.

Alana had not expected the onslaught of emotion entering her home would invoke. Marius seemed to have expected it and waited for her to compose herself. It had taken some time. The wards had needed renewing with the Azrael dead, and Marius had offered to do the job. Azrael had never closed the wards to him, and they were crafted with a vampire in mind, so she had conceded to his control, if reluctantly. He moved into the third room in the house with a boyish grin and explanation that it was his old one. His presence was a surprisingly welcome addition to what would have been eery silence without Azrael. They fell into a familiar routine soon enough.

"I'm surprised you're not blind from reading so much." It was a shame that, along with familiarity, came less endearing traits. She gave the teen vampire a glare.

"I'm surprised you haven't had sex with the piano with how you stare at it," She retorted. Marius had been giving the instrument doe eyes for the past month but hadn't worked up the courage to ask her if he could play it. It had belonged to Azrael.

"An instrument is meant to be used." Alana spared the poor man's feelings and put down the diary to finish her breakfast. A few minutes later, she was heading to Harley's in Knockturn. She was understandably surprised to find the establishment bustling with patrons.

"Oi Sparrow! Took your time coming in didn' you?" A familiar Scottish voice boomed across the room. A few of the more skittish folks quieted while the regulars gave her curious glances. She arched an eyebrow in question regretting having decided to go for polyjuice that morning rather than a cloak. Raymond's uncanny ability to recognise people meant she couldn't use this face again. Such a shame too. She'd have to try legilimency on another muggle and grab a few hairs some time. How annoying.

"I'll come in when I damn want to, Raymond, and not a second sooner." She informed the male not really wanting to admit to having no idea what was going on.

"At least you're here now. I don't suppose you've dealt with vampires before, love? There is an Italian hoping to start up a new coven, and he decided to set up a meet and greet. Rather hard to do a background check on those types, so I have nothing on them." Lilith, bless her two-faced soul, came to Alana's rescue. She sighed and gave Willow a signal for the barmaid to get her a drink. It was too early for this shit. She took a seat and pondered the situation.

"If they have Italy's support, it's best to sit back and play it by hand. If whoever comes has the support of the triumvirate we'd best back off. I've no desire to see the Italian, Spanish and French covens glaring at us from the border." She hummed thoughtfully while Lilith, Raymond, the newly arrived Greyson and a few other rogues were giving her sharp looks.

"I take it you had a run-in with them when you were overseas?" Lilith asked with dangerously curious eyes. Alana sweatdropped at the woman's puppy-like expression. The woman would totally sell this information.

"Another group, actually. They weren't related, but I've got the general gist of the social structure."

Lilith pouted, "How dull. Did you at least slit a few throats?"

"You know they can smell if you've murdered, right? And if it's a vampire from their coven? I don't have a death wish. But that's beside the point. Did you get a time for when they're coming? Merlin forbid the ministry catch their asses in Knockturn."

Raymond growled at the thought. "I don' have time to deal with their damn raids." There was a series of nods of agreement at the proclamation.

"Tonight, after sunset." Trust Lilith to know.

The activity in Harley's died down as midday approached before increasing towards sunset. The occupants were growing restless while Alana had chosen to read for the entirety of the day and taken a corner table. She had left to change to a cloak before the polyjuice wore off but returned swiftly to provide some source of comfort to her small community. Pfft. Her providing comfort. If comfort took the form of knowing someone was there to brutally murder your enemies, who was she to judge? She was pretty sure everyone in Knockturn knew what was going on by the day's end. The sun fell around 8:40 pm, and the tavern grew silent except for the loud sound of flipping pages. Flip. Silence. Slip. Silence. Several minutes later…

"Morgana's Tits, Sparrow! Can't you see we're trying to be nervous as fuck over here!" It was Greyson who yelled the profanity as the door opened.

"Have I, perhaps, interrupted something?" The cool voice held a distinctive Italian accent. Alana observed locks of curly brown hair, sharp features, a slim figure and red eyes unabashedly shown for all to see. She really hoped her new earrings were strong enough to mask a whole coven's murder, though Marius had assured her they were.

"Nothing of concern," It was Lilith who answered with blue eyes twinkling beneath a fringe of blond hair. Alana mentally cheered the woman on. '2,4,6,8! Who do we appreciate! Not the queen, not the king, only Lilith Bathery!'

"That is a relief." The vampire smiled. He actually seemed rather… pleasant for a vampire. Alana wondered if it was just the Romanians who had a stick up their arses. It was worth investigating. Lilith rose to greet the vampire properly and then Raymond followed by Greyson. Alana moved across the room silently to follow suit. Unfortunately, she forgot she was wearing her quiet clothes and the man jumped a good two feet up into the air when he noticed her. She coughed in embarrassment as her fellows gave her glares.

"Apologies. I forgot I was wearing my quiet clothes today." The vampire, as well as the two accompanying him, gave her a disbelieving look. Lilith was quick to guide them to the backroom set for the occasion.

The discussions were lengthy, but Alana listened with forced attentiveness. The man's name was Otavio Russo, and the triumvirate had selected him as their representative. They hadn't convened with the ministry as it had no laws surrounding vampire coven establishment except feeding regulation, so he thought it unnecessary. Alana had almost snorted at that. _'No laws yet… just a few decades worth of ingrained distrust towards all magical creatures.'_

Otavio seemed to be the decent sort from what she'd seen. A pacifist for sure and one interested in establishing closer relations with the other creatures residing in Britain. She wondered if the man realised his eagerness would be seen as naivete amongst the creatures and an act of rebellion by the ministry. Nevertheless, if he wanted creatures, he had come to the right place. Knockturn Alley was the social hub of the destitute and marginalised as well as those purebloods with more flexible views towards other races. Raymond himself was a werewolf and Lilith half-veela. The matter of his coven was settled with little trouble much to Greyson's visible relief. Feeding boundaries were to be set well away from central London, and each took turns pointing out possible areas to set up their coven headquarters.

"Here."

"Here would be better."

"Are you an idiot? This area is clearly safer."

Otavio seemed to take the bickering in stride.

"There are several twitchy aristocrats in the first suggestion and the second is too far from a food source," Alana cut in. Unfortunately, you couldn't win every battle, and Otavio kept casting her strange glances whenever she gave input. Eventually, she decided she ought to leave and get a drink.

"The constant glances are getting creepy, so I think I'm going to get a drink." There was pin-drop silence after she called him out. She rolled her eyes. Dear merlin. Everyone in the room was unnaturally aware of each other's movements. They really ought to grow a spine. If the vampire wasn't offended by their bickering, she really doubted he'd be affected by her statement.

"Are you old enough for that?"

Silence. _'Death almighty, please give me strength.'_

"I've killed men and women who'd put up a better fight than you," She took a deep breath, "I think I'm good."

"Really? My apologies if I offended you in any way. It's just that I've heard of your reputation and was somewhat surprised at your appearance."

"I'm twelve. It's understandable." Oops. The sound of Lilith squealing in the background had her ducking behind the male vampire with no shame.

"I knew it! Hahaha! Dwarf my ass! Come on, Greyson, hand over your damn money!" Raymond's holler had her wincing in distaste, but she had bigger issues. Lilith was currently trying to grab hold of her and making cooing noises.

"Oh, who knew our little Sparrow was still a fledgeling. You have to call me aunt Lilith now, sweetie." Lilith cooed. Alana thought she could taste her lunch in the back of her throat.

"Keep your crazy away from me, woman!" She hissed. "Insane! The lot of you!"

Otavio seemed unable to keep up with the situation and was still processing the girl's age when he had an epiphany.

"Why are you not in Hogwarts if you are a witch?"

The words were greeted by silence, and everyone turned to the vampire as if they had seen the light. It was a good question. Had Raoul known as well? They turned to ask the subject of there thoughts but found her to have vanished.

Alana grumbled as she dragged the drink to her lips and Willow cast her a worried look.

"I'm fine, love. Just stupid," She assured the woman. She would forever remember this day as a lesson to never let her tongue loose. She sighed, knowing she'd have to clean the entire mess up herself and without Raoul this time. The thought gave her a headache. It took barely twenty minutes for the discussion to end and the backroom to be emptied. The few who'd remained at the tavern wondered how the presence of vampires would affect their own trades. The beeline for her table seemed to include all three of the vampires, much to her chagrin. She cast a silencing ward around her corner silently only to receive suspicious looks at her wand.

"I didn't rob it off a dead person if that's what you're thinking. I went to Gregorovitch." She said accusingly. They each took a seat. She cringed as Lilith sat to her right._ 'What have I ever done to anger you, Fate?'_

"So… No Hogwarts for you then?" Greyson seemed to be taking things well, probably due to knowing her the longest. She nodded curtly.

"Just so we are clear, Aunt Lilith," She started and the woman beamed at her. "If you so much as think of letting another soul know about this, I will hunt down those dearest to you before I tear you to pieces." Her words were said sweetly, but the threat was clear.

"I'm perfectly aware of who you are, Sparrow." Lilith was visibly unaffected by the threat and smiled angelically.

"I've no interest in entering a magical institution as rife with prejudices as Hogwarts. Experience will always be my favourite teacher, and I am reluctant to part with it." Alana tilted her head at the group. Would they keep their silence? Probably not.

She summoned Aquarius, much to their alarm, and allowed the creature to rub itself against her hand. She rarely did such feats in front of others without killing them after, but it was easier this way. The slime felt her orders and quickly generated the materials she wanted. Thankfully, they were ones she usually had on hand.

"I try to avoid such things, but it can't be helped in this case. I don't suppose you'd be willing to sign a contract on the matter of my age?" The silky formality of the words tinged with a french accent was unintentionally reminiscent of Azrael's own speech, and Otavio stiffened at it. It was a style of speech frequently used by older vampires. There were uneasy nods as the others felt the switch. It was easily perceived as a threat to their livelihood as well as their good relations with the child. Sparrow was the pride of the tavern, and they knew it would be difficult to run things without her frequent, calming presence. Alana felt nothing but relief as she wrote the contract with elaborate strokes. She would have to make it in blood considering the vampires signing. This meant an older form of magical contract with a more lethal backlash. She had seen a few in Azrael's library, and her memories would not fail her. Perhaps that was her second mistake of the evening.

Otavio saw the contract, and he knew it for what it was. Sure proof the young girl had ties to a vampire. An old one. More than that, he knew of only one who resided in Britain before his moving. He said nothing of his thoughts, and his company of two obeyed the silent order. He would deal with this when there were less pesky ears to hear.

Alana couldn't quite say how or when she knew Otavio suspected her. It was an itch in the back of her mind that ordered her to pay closer attention. The contract was signed with no problem, and she gave the group a grin that was felt more than it was seen.

"Well, if that's all I think I'll be heading home. It's past my bedtime." Her usual enthusiasm returned tenfold. The group collectively deadpanned at her shift in mood.

"Sweet dreams, little Sparrow."

"Night, brat."

The vampires caught up to her just as she entered London. She considered her options.

a. Stop being a wuss and face her problems like a witch or

b. Run and don't look back

Such a difficult decision. Looks like the cards are all out. Secrets were, more often than not, not worth the struggle of keeping. She dearly hoped she didn't go down in flames holding onto hers.

"I don't like being followed at night. It gives me the creeps," She called out and was slightly pleased when footfalls sounded behind her. An escort was infinitely better than stalkers. Marius was going to kill her when he saw her entourage.

Fortunately, her guess was wrong, Marius didn't immediately impale her. In fact, he didn't really do anything other than stare. She whacked him on the head before telling him to let them pass the wards in scolding Romanian. He finally moved. Everyone was going insane today apparently. The three vampires entered with minimal staring at the residence. It was with exhaustion that Alana flopped onto what had been Azrael's favourite armchair with Otavio taking the other.

"I'd offer you tea, but you don't drink, and we ran out of alcohol yesterday," She lied through her teeth. It was hard enough conserving the vintage Azrael had without dishing it out to every vampire to enter the front door.

"That's not necessary. May I ask who the original owner of this residence is?"

"If you want to ask then you already know. If you needed to ask, I wouldn't speak a word." Alana's gaze was flat.

"Vincent de Azrael. My sire and that girl's bonded," Marius ruined the moment.

"Thank you, Marius, I really want more reminders of my dearly beloved's departure," She commented dryly.

"You're welcome." The cheeky brat.

"It's true then. We heard the news from Romania, but we weren't able to find any leads on his bonded." Alana growled softly in remembrance. The Apuseni had not hidden the involvement of an outsider in the massacre, only her identity. Now, that effort had gone to waste.

"I'm well aware of that. The Apuseni coven was kind enough to honour my wishes on the matter." She would have to tread carefully from here on out.

"They hid information regarding a member of our coven," he protested.

"Azrael forfeited his membership when he left to get some peace. You'd deny his bonded the privacy to grieve?" Marius cut in with surprising tact. Octavio looked sufficiently chastised.

"You killed an entire coven, and yet you carry no scent," One of his companions decided to push from a different angle. Alana winced at the memory of the last time she had removed her earrings.

"It's common knowledge that such things can be masked."

"That much is impossible."

"You'd be surprised."

"You understand that if you were lying about killing the coven, Marius would be implicated." The words had her turning to the third male softly. Whatever good humour she had vanished at the threat. For a vampire to kill their own coven was unheard of. It was why she had kept him at the borders of the wards while she worked. Those he threw bags at were technically killed by another living creature, a plant, so he was in the clear. She seethed at the vampire's gall to threaten one of her own.

"You think I would let you touch him?" Her vision was black with anger as she restrained her aura. At this rate, she would break the earrings with sheer will power.

"We meant nothing of the sort," Octavio was quick to rescue his henchman from the witch. "We only wish to be able to report the truth and nothing but the truth."

The girl gritted her teeth. She doubted that they would leave her in peace if she didn't satisfy them and with their move to Britain… At the very least, they didn't know her name or her face as she'd yet to change clothes. Small mercies she supposed. Small fingers reached for the earrings and fiddled with the clasps. Marius moved closer to her to provide some comfort. He had an inkling that the reactions to her aura made her uncomfortable. Once released, her aura poured out thickly into the room.

Otavio had smelt many auras in his life and, to be perfectly honest, this one was not half as bad as some he had seen. What truly made him feel sick to his stomach? He could not say. Perhaps, it was her age. Not yet past her twelfth summer and she was already cloaked in blood with the frayed ends of a bond. Whatever it was, it caused cold darkness to settle at the back of his mind. The feeling was a black hole that pulled the light from the world. He marvelled at how the younger Marius could willingly stand so close. Just as quickly as it came, it was gone. Somehow those small earrings managed to mask the entirety of her aura from his senses.

"Was that sufficient evidence?" The question was stiff with discomfort, and Otavio quickly nodded in reply. How had Azrael found a witch willing to go to such lengths for him and his sired child? The demonstration of loyalty seemed obscene to him. But it was not in his prerogative to ask. He left quickly with the promise of no future questions on the events which happened in Romania. He would ensure she remained unbothered, though the triumvirate was unlikely to investigate the matter further.

Alana closed the door with exhaustion weighing heavily on her mind. Forget a drink, she needed sleep and lots of it.


	16. 14) The Ministry of Magic

**1990 August**

**_Creation: Capricorn V_**

_Species: Library System_

_Level: 16_

_Capable of mind defence, complex thought and processing 17600 words per hour. New Skill: Legilimency (Active)_

**_Creation: Aquarius IV_**

_Species: Inventory System_

_Level: 31_

_Capable of storing 32 objects. Summoning cost decrease tripled._

**_Creation: Pisces III_**

_Species: Healing System_

_Level: 22_

_Magic focus increased x2 Dexterity increased x2 Precision increased x2_

There was a pub in Knockturn Alley where magical creatures of all cultures and ethnicities met and drank together into the late hours of the evening. It was a lively place with a rickety sign swinging above its entrance. Up a set of stairs by Markus Scarrs Indelible Tattoos sat The White Wyvern. Alana was a frequent patron of the establishment as one of the few places where one could let their hood down without fearing the scrutiny of their company. Most creatures there would assume her to be non-human rather than an underaged witch, and as a regular, no one would ever give her trouble. The loud conversations of werewolves by the bar and the shady dealers in the corner were all things she had grown accustomed to.

The now thirteen-year-old sighed as she folded and endured the jeers of her fellow gamblers. Losing was so very painful. Her winnings were scooped up by a darkly grinning wizard whom she directed a dirty glare at. Colth only grinned wider.

"Laugh while you can, old man. I'll pay you back tenfold," She warned before leaving the game for a stretch. She was improving. This time she had only lost eleven out of thirteen games rather than all of them. The old wizard was probably a cheat anyway. At least her conscience was clear. Sure. Clear.

The girl was tempted to get a drink, but she was regretfully underage, and the new bartender was far sterner than his predecessor. Her booted feet made their way to a back table where Greyson was attempting to woo a veela twice his age.

"I hear age only improves fine wine."

Alana choked on her spit. Veela were renowned for their stamina, but really, the man's pick up lines were too much sometimes. The woman was clearly not interested in the flirt if her glower was any indication. Thinking quickly, she threw herself into the man's lap to save what little dignity he had.

"What's up? Miss me, asshole?" The greeting received a sharp yelp in response as her elbow met his stomach. The woman used the moment to slip away, and Alana gave an amused laugh.

"Aren't I a regular hero saving fair ladies from your nefarious clutches?"

"A cockblocker is what you are," Greyson growled and shoved her off.

She chuckled as the male left grumbling something about brothels and brunettes. Alana rolled her eyes and took the now empty chair. She ought to put a leash on the thief before he got himself into trouble. It was with boredom that the girl leaned her elbows on the table and placed her chin in her palm. She observed the pub with deliberate care. There was little amusing about the scene, and she hadn't brought her violin along. With nothing to keep her there, she took her leave in the early afternoon.

John Dawlish was a steady man who took his blessings along with his curses. The White Wyvern, as it so happened, was a pub he frequented far more often than most would consider healthy. It was his primary means of obtaining information on the goings of the wizarding world, something essential to his line of work. He was an Auror, a good one at that. Some might have considered him the best - of this generation at least. The minister of magic, Cornelius Fudge, had recognised his prowess by assigning him the privilege of leading his personal security. Obviously, he was not foolish enough to broadcast this fact in Knockturn Alley. Despite being a law-abiding citizen, the wiry, grey-haired man was rather neutral on the subject of magical creatures. He was, however, very stubborn when it came to the laws regarding wizards and witches. It was this fact that had him silently questioning the presence of an unaccompanied child in Knockturn Alley. It was not the first time he had noticed the girl as she regularly toured The White Wyvern. It was, however, the first time he had decided to act on his concerns.

She was being followed. The prickling on her neck had abated for the few seconds it took to cross from Knockturn to Muggle London before it came back full force. The problem was that she couldn't pinpoint its exact direction. Not a vampire. She knew that instinctively. Not a friend. The gaze was making her twitch with the urge to hurl a blade. It seemed Raoul had rubbed off on her. She heard the thump of a footstep and realised at that moment that it was time to use her secret weapon.

"Paedophile!" The scream of a terrified child reverberated through the streets of London, and the girl hit the concrete with flailing limbs. She let a few tears escape as she ran for dear life only to blink them away when a spell whizzed past her ear._ 'Oh, Fuck No!' _What began as a half-hearted run switched to a full sprint. _'A wand-user! Of course, it just had to be a bloody wand-user?!'_ She felt the heat of another spell and ducked. _'Silent casting.'_ She noted her assailant's advantage along with the spell's appearance. It looked to be a body bind. _'Nonlethal then. What was their intention?'_ The ground beneath her suddenly contorted, and she felt her ankle twist painfully with the motion before she escaped the spell's range.

A layer of sweat gleamed on her bow. Environment control spells required high-level magic output and an even higher level of control. Before she could consider the implications, another spell hit the wall inches from her previous position. How her tail had managed to keep up with her pace, she didn't know. She hadn't been given enough time to breathe, let alone summon the concentration needed to use her magic or make a summons. A small voice in the back of her head cursed herself for investing in skills that were dependent on having the element of surprise. That a single raptor could reduce her to a rabbit running for its burrow was a kick in the gut to whatever confidence she had. She needed time. She needed a plan. She needed to think.

The nimble witch grabbed a ledge and deftly twisted to get on top of the roof of a nearby apartment. At the top, she snatched a look below her to try and get a glimpse of her chaser.

"Wrong direction."

"Ah!" She screamed bloody murder at the gruff voice that came from behind her and toppled off the roof. She would have considered it the most embarrassing moment of her life had she not been seconds away from a broken skull.

"Arresto momentum!" The blessedly quick incantation was her only warning before she felt the mildly violating sensation of being encased in gelatine. The spell saw her safely returned to the ground where the girl tried to shake the feeling back into her limbs. Before she could fully regain her bearings, she was wrapped in a layered body bind by the wand of a short, leathery-skinned, older male.

Restrained as she was, Alana was left to glare at the wizard. Bested by an old man when she had taken down a vampire coven. If news got out, her reputation would be ruined and Marius, the damned soul that he is, would never let her live it down. Of course, this was all pointless to worry about if she ended up in AZKABAN. How could anyone forget about the rotting carcass that held Britain's worse? Oddly enough, she didn't doubt that they would make an exception to the 'no minor policy' surrounding that building if they learnt of her history nevermind her clientele. She hissed at the wizard as he approached. While she acknowledged none of her previous jobs had involved dangerous face-to-wand confrontations, it didn't make her current state any less pitiful. Dawlish blinked at her coiled form. She blinked back. He blinked twice more. _What was this?! Some kind of morse code?!_ She mentally screamed. Thankfully, her thoughts didn't register on her glaring face.

"Name, age and species." He ordered and her face twisted in disgust.

"State your intentions, wizard." She growled. Unfortunately, her small size didn't allow the intimidating appearance she was aiming for. The man looked old enough to be her grandfather if her grandfather had been a bodybuilder for a living.

"..."

_'When did this fellow go mute? Were you not just hexing me a few minutes ago?'_ She scowled.

"Concern for the safety of the general public," He finally replied.

"You an Auror?"

"..."

Evidently, the man was not skilled in interrogation.

"I don't have to answer anything if you aren't. This is illegal abduction, you know!"

"Kidnapping."

"What?!"

"Abduction is the term used for adults while you are clearly a child."

"Drop dead."

Twelve minutes later, Alana was still glaring at the man who had cast a warming charm on the concrete to stop her from shivering. She sniffed in disdain and tried for the seventeenth time.

"Release me, you fiend. I want to go home."

"Where's home?"

Urgh! This man wouldn't let the matter rest. He was obstinate in his refusal to let her go, and his magic might as well have been fucking iron for all she could get through it. If only she had found the chance to summon Aquarius earlier. Her regret felt sour on her tongue, but she did not dwell on it for long. She would berate herself later. Fortunately for her, she had a few cards left to play. She bit her lip defiantly and sought out his eyes. A tentative push was all it took to slip into his mind. It was surprisingly unguarded. That was somewhat concerning, but she wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

The fact she could do legilimency scans wandlessly had never been more useful. She scanned his surface thoughts swiftly. Concern. Curiosity at her agility. Invested interest in her well being because… Just because. What sort of reasoning was that?! The man was an Auror alright and not the friendly type. One of the minister's top dogs. John Dawlish. A regular of the pub that she recognised now that she had a few of his memories swirling in her vision. A few flickers of dead bodies surfaced in his thoughts, and she shivered. One-on-one, she wouldn't stand a chance. This was why she worked jobs requiring stealth, where she had the advantage of surprise and poison. Physical confrontation was not her forte, and since the Romanian incident, she had avoided it uncomfortable with the memories of her bloodlust. It was easier to distance yourself from your target. Stronger wizards had lost themselves to the crazed adrenaline of a magic fight. She wouldn't become another statistic.

She pulled away from his mind. It was a relief to find her breathing exercises had done their job, and she wasn't sprawled on the ground panting from exertion.

"My name is Alana. You could have just asked someone at the pub."

"How'd you know I was at the pub?"

"I know everyone in Knockturn." She deflected with a twisted truth. Part of her would have been rather offended if he had questioned the response. What sort of blind luck did it take for one to roam Knockturn without learning of its usual occupants? Dawlish wisely accepted the answer and gave his wand a short wave at the girl. It glowed faintly. Alana felt unhappiness at seeing the soft blue light.

"What's that?"

"A spell that identifies a witch."

"Oh…"

She was suddenly very glad that she did not carry her wand on her person. After having almost broken it numerous times, she had given the duty of holding it to Aquarius. The Auror searched her for the item before hoisting her small body over his shoulder. Alana remained strangely silent through the whole ordeal while he apparated both of them away. He was taking her to the ministry, and she was letting him.

They arrived with no detours and Alana played nervously with her hands behind her back as they neared the entrance. Dawlish had decided to let her walk after reaching the telephone box that doubled as an elevator down to the complex. She was grateful somewhat that she didn't have to suffer the humiliation of being carried like a sack of potatoes through the atrium. She had gleaned enough from the man's memories to know that resistance was futile at this point. The ministry wards would sense and catalogue any magical signature that entered a 10-kilometre radius from the building and note any spells used within its wards. The wards there were the product of centuries of magical discovery and kept in pristine condition. She could not see them, but she most definitely felt them as she passed them. They were suffocating in their strength, far stronger than the mockery of a ward the vampires had been given. Whatever protections she had on her person were easily oppressed.

Dawlish had a single-minded determination that only death could halt. He crossed the marble floor as though a general marching to war. She would be lying if she said fighting hadn't crossed her mind, but she knew that while the ministry was lacking in many aspects, they wouldn't let a lead Auror's death slide without tearing up Knockturn for answers. They'd probably leap at the opportunity actually. Otavio's coven was still in its infancy, so she was reluctant to cause such a hindrance to its development. She was resigned to having to roll with the punches for now and hopefully discreetly contact Marius at some point.

With that in mind, she was more willing to relax slightly and take in the scenery around her. The atrium was unlike anything she'd seen before. France's ministry had been all golds, whites and french fleurs but this seemed far more scholarly and certainly not as dramatic as Germany's gothic stone structure. Gilded fireplaces lined both walls where people could floo to and from the building. The polished dark wood floor was matched with a blue ceiling twinking with gold symbols. A statue took up the centre of the space depicting a wizard, witch, centaur, goblin and house-elf with the later three gazing up at the wand-wielders in awe. Alana rolled her eyes at the arrogant display as well as the exclusion of several other races prevalent in Great Britain. She had yet to meet a centaur or goblin who'd so much as tip their hat to a wand-wielder. The house-elves, on the other hand…

They went from the atrium on the eighth floor to the administrative offices on the first using the department elevators. Merlin forbid a wand-wielder have to walk up the stairs. Eventually, the pair entered an office. Pink. It was the first thing the girl noticed, and a feeling of dark premonition befell her mind. The woman that greeted them from behind the desk was a short, pudgy thing with curled hair and large eyes. The creature smiled, and Alana gave a stiff nod of courteous acknowledgement. The pink devil herself. Dolores Umbridge was not yet senior undersecretary apparently.

"Good morning, John. Did you have something for me?" The woman's saccharine voice made itself known, and Alana wondered with morbid curiosity if she came on to all ministry workers with more influence than her.

"I have an unregistered and underage witch, Dolores."

_'Throw me under the bus, why don't you?'_ Alana gave a relaxed smile and dipped into a formal yet elegant bow that screamed aristocracy in every sense of the word.

"My apologies for causing any inconvenience, madam." She made sure to let the small trace of french accent she had picked up from Azrael slip past her lips seemingly unintentionally. If the woman respected influence, which she clearly did, she would pour her skills out in buckets. Dawlish was giving her a questioning look, but she ignored it. He only knew her to be a defiant child who roamed the outskirts of society. It was not such a stretch to assume her the rebelling child of a lesser-known lord. There were two faces to every person, and she had only ignored this one due to Azrael's passing. He was no longer here to protect her, though, and if this was what it took to guard herself, then she would not hesitate. Dolores gave a start before she began pulling out sheets of paper and a quill. What followed were a series of polite questions on her name, age, residence and schooling.

"My name is Alana Vincent. My current guardian is my cousin Marius Mardare. Yes, we live in London in an unplottable residence. My parents passed away when I was quite young, and I was moved to Britain from France to be home-schooled by Marius' father, Azrael Vincent. I was left with his son after his death. I don't remember much of my parents, and neither Azrael nor my cousin speak of them." Dolores was writing with such speed that the girl was somewhat concerned for her hand. Meanwhile, Dawlish had returned to his default state of silent impassiveness. Alana really hoped this would be over soon. The idea of the ministry having her on record made her grit her teeth. She would get by just fine with it, but it would still be an annoyance.

There was also the issue of schooling. She told them Marius was a squib, the easy solution if they investigated him. It also explained the different surname as pureblood parents often refused the family name to squibs. It was unlikely they'd check the man for vampirism right off the bat. Azrael had fabricated information on his status as her guardian when they went overseas and switched his name to Azrael Vincent. It was to avoid anyone immediately recognising his more famed full title Vincent Louis de Azrael. The difference was small as she had incredulously pointed out, but he'd assured her that no one would pick up his identity. Marius, on the other hand, had already fabricated similar documents of relation to pay the house bills.

The topic of Hogwarts was, of course, brought up eventually by Umbridge and Dawlish. Both seemed rather insistent on her enrollment. However, squibs counted as magical guardians no matter how stripped of rights they were. That meant Marius' permission was required by law to enrol her. Alana smiled politely as the paperwork went to be processed. _'Try to work your way through that, you meddlesome bureaucrats!'_


	17. 15) The Sorting

**1990 September**

Betrayal was the furthest thing she had expected from Marius. A meeting with her guardian had reluctantly been set up to sign the proper documents and Marius, against all expectations and reason, had agreed to Dawlish's proposed enrollment into Hogwarts. His decision had unsurprisingly created a divide between the two, and she had refused to so much as look at him for a month. The silence in the house was stifling. Still, she brought everything she needed for school and sat the few tests needed to determine whether she would be put in her age grade or have to start from year one. Homeschooling was not so unusual though it had fallen out of popularity after the first wizarding war.

The thirteen-year-old had passed the first and second year standards without a hitch and was given the thumbs up to be placed in her actual age group. _'Yay… Can you sense the sarcasm there?'_ She hadn't engaged with a witch or wizard her physical age since… forever. She wasn't quite sure what to expect, but she was already dreading it. She recalled how the Harry Potter books had practically been a collection of in-school disasters. Like any sane person, she was determined to avoid the catastrophes.

Marius bore the silence with dignified grace. He was sure of his decision and that it was the right thing for Alana. He had known the girl for years and, although he would never claim to know her as well as Azreal, he knew she needed this. Alana was mature for her age and spoke easily with most adults, but she avoided children like they were a plague. It was an unconscious reaction he had noticed whenever they went into town for shopping and the like. It was concerning. Human children, in particular, needed interactions with those their age. From what he had seen, the girl had no friends either, unless one could call a collective of criminals friends. But no, those people all wanted something from her or feared her in some way. Hogwarts would be different. She would be nobody there and free to form her own close connections. It was time she moved on from Azrael and her fear of a second loss. If she hated him for it, then so be it.

King's Cross Station was as bustling as any normal transport hub. It was with immense reluctance that Alana found the correct platform. Nine and three quarters. The shrunk trunk in her pocket had cost a small fortune, but she was determined to at least try to live up to her motto: _'leave no book behind'_. Unfortunately, a lot of the more interesting, controversial material had to be put aside in her packing. Her arm holster also held a new wand - Sycamore, twelve inches, flexible, phoenix feather. Ollivander had been most curious about the wand she had been using previously (because apparently, it was noticeable to the man). Initial horror at him knowing aside, she had taken a liking to the obviously passionate man. Her own knowledge of wandlore was shallow, but he had pointed out several faults in Gregorovitch's work before returning it with a conspiratory smile. Thank Morgana he wasn't a snitch. It seemed that he too disliked the ministry's interference with his work. He quietly tolerated being forced to add a trace to every wand. She had to give it to the man; the wand was a much better fit. It was a shame she wouldn't be able to use it outside of school.

The train at the station was obnoxiously red but no less magnificent because of it. The black gave it a sleekness that seemed unusual considering the period. It was a somewhat humbling experience to stand before such a significant automotive, knowing it had been the beginning and end of many adventures. Parents and children crowded the platform despite the early hour. There was ample amusement to be found in watching young kids run off to the train only to be pulled back by their parents for another hug. The purebloods were far more dignified, if only for the sake of appearances. She boarded silently, still lost in her thoughts. The corridor inside was well lit and long with doors lining either side. Her early arrival ensured she found an empty cabin to settle in. A book was opened in her hand and not a second too slow as the door slid open yet again.

If anyone had told her she would see such a face on her way to Hogwarts, she would have bolted. As it was, she could barely make sense of the emotions that swept through her. Her eyes were wide in shock and hands clenched tightly. The boy gave her a piercing glare for staring before slamming the door shut. He moved on to the next compartment, obviously searching for something. Alana gave a shaky breath before closing her book and placing an uncertain hand on her chest. It was beating rapidly with a mixture of fear, happiness, and overwhelming guilt. The guilt was new. She'd never thought she would see that boy again. It seemed Jake Matthews was a wizard.

Alana spent the next fifteen minutes in solitude with her thoughts racing. She barely noticed the train leave the station. Her mind churned soundlessly as it attempted to recalculate her plans with the introduction of a new variable. Matthews hadn't recognised her which was a relief in some ways and painful in others. Had she changed so much? Yes. She knew that. Still, there was a chance he would recognise her name when it was called out at the sorting. She had to plan ahead. She wouldn't, couldn't risk her wellbeing for him no matter how close they had once been. The thought pained her, but it was true. Alana slipped from her compartment and approached the grey-haired trolley lady.

"Excuse me, madam, but have you seen a boy about this height with dark brown hair, sharp features and brown eyes? He was wearing muggle clothes if that helps." She made a few gestures, and the woman frowned thoughtfully. It didn't matter if she answered though, as Alana had already begun to scan her more recent memories. She smiled and thanked the woman politely when she shook her head. People remembered far more than they thought. She moved past five or so doors before slipping Aquarius out and letting the creature drop to the floor. She quietly cast a notice-me-not charm and pressed herself against the wall. Her summons knew its order instinctively and quickly pressed itself flat to slip under the door.

It slid unseen under the seats of the chatting children and a quieter Jake Matthews. Then, it secreted a stink bomb of immense proportions. The group quickly began fighting each other to get to the exit and fled down the hall. Some went toward the bathroom while Matthews just sighed and gave his wand a wave to clear the air. Personally, the Hufflepuff found the group to be a bit too impulsive at times. Alana stepped through the open door and locked it behind her as she met the boy's eyes. He was, predictably, as unguarded mentally as most his age. She summoned Pisces and braced herself for a deep dive.

His memories were waves crashing against her mind, but she held firm and calmed them with a weak compulsion. She dove deeper and deeper still until she found what she wanted. Most minds were a sea of thoughts, emotions and memories. The deeper one went, the more intrinsic they were to a person's identity and the more overwhelming they became. His memories of her were almost too far for her to reach, and she momentarily found the pressure of his thoughts to be too much. They threatened to swallow her whole, but she was not so frail in mind to crumble so soon.

She reached for them and prodded them gently. A tendril wrapped itself around her, and she felt more than saw the image of a young boy crying over a hand-drawn missing-person poster. His mind didn't want her there. She couldn't afford to lose focus and brushed the image away carefully. She drew the memories together and singled out the piece of information she wanted to erase. Not everything. Just her name. Her name spelt in harsh lettering throughout many thoughts and feelings. Alana Hales. She put the majority of her magic into the act of blurring the name. He wouldn't remember it. He may hear it and feel it familiar, but he won't understand why. She gave one final push before extracting herself. It was with a quick wipe of his most recent memories that she left.

She made it several steps before she collapsed. Thankfully, that was all it took to get to the bathroom stall. She spent a good half hour hunched over the toilet after the draining use of magic. Her forehead was covered with a sheen of sweat when she returned to her senses, and there was a noticeable tremor in her movements. It was a case of magic overuse that she had expected – a necessary cost. A few cleaning spells and well-thought pepper-up potion later, she moved to find another cabin for the rest of the ride. It was less difficult than one might have thought.

She found herself seated across from two witches, a slim brunette and chubby blonde who introduced themselves as Charlotte Winters and Lola Pierce respectively. The other occupant was a solid-looking boy too skittish to meet any of their gazes, let alone speak to them. She had returned their enthusiastic greetings with an unbidden smile. The elder one, Charlotte, was rather charming for her age and the conversation flowed with a naturalness that pleasantly surprised Alana. They asked about her history before discussing electives and teachers. The abrupt subject change was likely because of the number of deceased relatives she had to mention to explain her circumstances as vaguely as possible. She hadn't been able to hold back the grin at Lola's gaping jaw as she narrated a brief overview of her planned backstory. They probably thought her cursed with bad luck.

The company reached Hogwarts quickly, and Alana joined the first-year group while Charlotte and Lola headed to the carriages with wishes of luck. As though to make up for the loss of the enjoyable company, she got the novel experience of riding a tiny boat across a lake inhabited by a giant squid and merpeople. The castle loomed over the waters, a monument to wizarding kind. It was equal parts awe-inspiring and terrifying. All too soon, the boat hit the docks, and they were passed from the giant groundskeeper to the deputy headmistress, Minerva McGonagall. The shorter first years kept sending the taller girl curious glances but didn't approach her. Meanwhile, Alana was secretly revelling in the enthralling experience of not being the shortest person in the room. Being smaller than average was both a blessing and a curse.

The stern woman briefly explained the rules and houses before they were led into the great hall. It certainly was great enough to live up to its name. The ceiling was an illusion of the sky while candles floated like buoys in a sea of magic. She could sense powerful charms on the candles but buried her curiosity towards their purpose for the moment.

"Welcome, new students to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry! We will now begin the sorting!"

You know she had almost forgotten about the old goat. Albus something or other Dumbledore greeted the students with a grandfatherly smile and open arms. She was reluctantly impressed at the calming aura that washed over her skin. It was a stark contrast to her own cloud of death. However, it didn't make his appalling sense of fashion and twinkly eyes any more bearable. She had the profound urge to grasp his eyeballs in her hands and see if they still sparkled when removed from his head.

Her thoughts disturbed herself sometimes.

The sorting went in alphabetical order of last name. She was summoned by Professor McGonagall's clipped tone. Her expression was calm and pleasant with mild curiosity as she was introduced as a home-schooled student. It would certainly be an interesting reputation to have. She gave a polite smile before the hat was placed over her head.

'Those are some rather interesting mind defences, Miss Alana de Azrael.' Alana smiled apprehensively as the sound of rustling resonated in her head. A few seconds later, the voice returned, 'Is that a goat?'

'I really hope you have a vow of confidentiality on these sort of things. Also, yes.'

'You don't have anything to worry about.'

She breathed a small sigh of relief. She had figured he wasn't a snitch otherwise mini-mort would have been clipped at the bud. Being mind raped was unpleasant, but she could at least be certain the hat wouldn't get any of her Gaia-protected memories.

'Let's see hmm… A wealth of greed and curiosity. Loyalty also, to those few you cherish, and courage in the face of vampires. Not exactly honourable, I must say, and a rather obsessive work ethic. I'm thinking Ravenclaw, but you lack some of the wisdom. I suppose you could grow it in time, but I really must ask what you think about Slytherin.'

'The are all either prejudiced or face prejudice.'

'They also hold some of the greatest supporters of creature rights and free magic.'

'They also have a reputation for being thieves and murderers. A bit too close to the mark, I think.'

'Ravenclaw then? You're a tad too ruthless for Hufflepuff.'

'I didn't even know that was on the table.'

'You'd be surprised.'

"Ravenclaw!"

The conversation had taken a total of four minutes which wasn't bad as far as hat stalls went. The Ravenclaws attempted to clap in a dignified manner at their newest addition. They failed dramatically. Alana was pleased to find the brunette she had sat next to on the train amongst the sea of faces. Charlotte gave a small grin when the girl sat beside her.

"Welcome to the eagle's nest, Alana." The purple-eyed witch quirked her lips into a satisfied smile. Alana returned the smile with thanks. A nest was only fitting for a Sparrow.


	18. 16) Mind The Raven

**1990 September**

The sight of seventh years leading their students to their common rooms was reminiscent of a shepherd herding sheep. It was messy, and the rotating stairs in no way helped their endeavour. Charlotte leaned on the railing and cast a look at the plummeting drop below them.

"People always wonder why Hogwarts has the highest mortality rate of any magical institution. I think the answer's very obvious," She remarked with a glance at the girl beside her. Alana considered the statement and huffed in amused agreement. They ought to at least put a few wards up to stop students tripping to their doom. She said as much and watched a smile light the taller girl's face. It seemed they had a similar sense of humour. The trek to Ravenclaw tower was short, and they soon found themselves huddled around a wall. Here, they experienced their first riddle which would allow one entry into the common room.

"I have a stiff shaft and my tip penetrates. I come with a quiver. What am I?"

The sound of a few older students choking filled the air while the more innocent ones simply looked confused. Charlotte was giving the door an offended look whilst Alana snickered.

"An arrow." The reply came from a stonefaced older year. Charlotte nudged Alana softly to share the male's name. Terrence Bagnold. He was the sixth year 'king of the nest' so to speak. She idly wondered if he had any relation to Millicent Bagnold, the previous minister of magic. If he did, then he seemed to not have inherited the popular Ravenclaw's sense of humour.

The group filtered through the door with minimal murmuring. The room was wide and airy with a domed ceiling littered with astronomical diagrams and maps. There were several bookcases, couches, and windows showing the surrounding mountainous landscape. Alana was instantly grateful for heating charms as the windows looked quite large. They were introduced to the head of their house, Professor Filius Flitwick. The half-goblin greeted them all from a stool but still lacked the height to reach their eye-level. He hardly seemed to notice the height difference and was beaming at them as he explained the basic house and school rules. Timetables were also handed out early as he apparently trusted them not to lose them overnight like the other students. Alana had chosen Care of Magical Creatures, Arithmancy and Ancient Runes as her electives. Charlotte left for the dorms as soon as they were given out. After that, the professor stepped down (not that it made much difference) and let Terrence take the floor.

"I am Terrence Bagnold, one of your sixth-year prefects and the current overseer of Ravenclaw. You will notice there are two prefects from each year level from fifth upwards. First and second years fall under the fifth year prefects while the third and fourth years fall under the sixth year prefects. If you have any problems, queries or just need an ear to talk to, you go to these people for help. There are also two boards in the common room. The first is for notices approved by the head of our house. The second one, which many of you will come to use, is for posting any difficult or unusual questions you cannot find the answers to in the library. We are a house that seeks knowledge with what resources we are given, but those available may vary from person to person. Naturally, we aim to overcome this as a unified group of intellectuals. On that note, I expect you all to represent your house with pride and dignity. Courtesy is prized by all and costs nothing so use it sparingly. Bigotry and discrimination will not be tolerated within this house or towards another. Offer aid where it is needed, master your studies, hone your skills, share your knowledge and you can soar to new heights in Ravenclaw."

A few of the first years were giving the young man starstruck looks by the end of his speech. Alana tiredly stretched as they were led to the dorms. Each dorm room held two students who would decide on a password for their door. Alana was blessed to be in a year where all the students were already paired, so she got her own room. It came with strict orders not to abuse the privilege, or it would be taken away. Spot checks were a thing, so she wasn't about to use the wall to plan her raids anyways.

Opening the door proved to be a mistake as she was immediately assaulted by a disgruntled great horned owl. Auxilium, as she had named the beast, quickly halted the attack once he realised it was her. She was still left with a gash along her arm where she had tried to shield herself.

"Auxilium, you brute! Check before you try to claw my eyes out next time!" Alana growled as she slammed the door behind her. The damned bird always went for the eyes, which was why she had purchased him. Paying back Marius for his disservice had been her top priority then, and Auxilium was vicious towards all but his owner after much bribery. The owl who was only staring at her hooted in reply. At least she knew someone would have a hard time entering her room. What was this foreign feeling inside her? Could it be pity? She pulled her wand out and summoned Pisces briefly to help her heal her arm. She really ought to find a way to make the creature invisible. She was too noticeable. The witch proceeded to check her trunk and its three main compartment rooms. She had pulled a Newt Scamander and filled one room with fully stocked library shelves, another with all her chemicals and potions ingredients, and the third with a potion-making room. She hardly wanted to be caught crafting potentially lethal poisons for Aquarius to store so the expense had been necessary. Everything was in order, so she began to check her new room.

It was roughly six metres square with two large four-poster beds on either side of a large paned window. She decided to place her owl's perch there rather than put the bird in the owlery. It would probably massacre the others for fun. The walls were a baby blue colour while the floor was a cold stone with a rug in the centre. A bookshelf and desk occupied either side of the door opposite the foot of the beds. She eyed the room critically, already planning to change the walls to a navy blue like her place back in London, spell the ceiling white, and lay down some light wooden floors. The dark blue duvet and grey pillows were already fine with her, and her wooden martial arts training dummy would fit between the desk and bed on one side. If she was going to be there for the next four years, she would damn well be comfortable. She toed the rug. It wasn't fluffy enough. She needed a nice fluffy black carpet in her life. An hour later saw her climbing into bed in blue, silk pyjamas. She felt like a damn princess sleeping in the huge castle - a princess with a seven-inch blade beneath her pillow. Curfew was at 10:00 pm, but she was drained from the emotional turmoil of the day, so she fell asleep quickly.

**1990 September**

Night turned into day, and the rise of the sun saw Alana poking around the castle with curious limbs. The halls were eerily silent as breakfast in the Great Hall was not for another hour at least. The small girl rounded another corner and found herself in the castle's main courtyard. Pale morning light revealed open, grey stone corridors surrounding the expanse of grass and gravel walkways. A large oak tree sheltered the western corner glittering with morning dew. Vines crept up the victorian arched windows where the corridors met the slice of paradise. Alana relaxed in the silence for a few minutes before attempting to return to the western tower. The portraits proved an incredible help in achieving this goal, and after a few polite words, she found the room again. She still had a good half hour before the hall opened.

There were only a few Ravenclaws awake so early and most were spread through the common room with parchments or books in their hands. Holiday homework procrastinators, she guessed. Alana spied one familiar face amongst the sea of blue furniture. It was the skittish boy from the train. He was actually rather well-built for his age with a mess of black hair and onyx eyes. He was playing a game of chess against himself with a look of intense concentration marring his features. Undeterred, Alana planted herself across from him and watched the game with interest. She was surprised to note the set was not automated as most wizard versions were. The boy seemed content to move the pieces himself. Hmm… She considered the chances of him agreeing to teach her the rules.

It took a few minutes for the boy to reach checkmate and he began to squirm after realising he was being watched. Alana quirked an eyebrow at the suddenly restrained twitchiness the boy displayed.

"My name's Alana. Would you please teach me to play? It looks fun," She tilted her head towards the game in question.

"Leoen Volkov…" She waited for his reply to her question but he seemed determined to stop at his name.

"Well?" She prodded. His mouth opened and closed like a dying fish. This guy… A constipated look came over his features.

"Sure," He wheezed. She sweatdropped at the boy. He looked like he was offering his head on a pike. The following minutes were filled with his rigid movements as he awkwardly explained the game. Alana was the polar opposite with fluid movements and a relaxed posture. She was far more at peace after her morning stroll and resolved to make it part of her daily routine.

Breakfast time soon rolled over, and she led the reluctant male to the table with an iron grip. Meanwhile, Leoen was giving the girl bewildered glances and marvelling at her surprising strength. Her angelic smile did not budge as she sat him next to her and dished up some bacon and eggs. An elbow met the boy's rib when he wouldn't stop shifting under the gazes of a few students. The eyes on them didn't pass her notice, but the boy was ruining her appetite with his display of discomfort. She had observed several things about the boy over the course of the morning. The most obvious observation was that he hated being stared at; however, the few moments he ignored the eyes, his body language spoke of quiet confidence and capability. It was an intriguing contrast.

Charlotte finally made an appearance at the table while deep in conversation with Lola Pierce, the Hufflepuff in their year. Both had already sat down across from them before they looked up. The wide-eyed, borderline hysterical look Lola gave the Volkov youth had Alana choking on her bacon with laughter. Charlotte looked equally uncomfortable but far less traumatised. She cleared her throat whilst diverting her eyes.

"A new friend, Alana?"

"Hmm… I like him." She nodded and took a sip of water. She meant it in the 'he's interesting' way, but Lola looked to be on the verge of passing out. Leoen was as stiff as a wooden plank beside her. She leaned over as if conspiring with the boy and gave him a small grin with devious eyes. "You don't mind, do you? I don't have many friends." She told the boy in a mock whisper. Lola finally snapped.

"You know what his family does, right?" Her breathing was panicked. Alana gave in and sent the girl a calming smile. She was almost as flighty as the criminals of Knockturn when Otavio and his ilk arrived.

"Of course. What does it matter to me?" Her reply was spun silk, both pure and light in tone. She heard a few splutters from everyone eavesdropping and gave a closed-eye smile. Most students thought her ignorant due to her homeschooling. Any pureblood worth their salt would know the Volkov's profession, and most avoid him out of a false hope of self-preservation. They were a family of hit wizards residing in Russia. Every member of the family had eventually taken up the profession, and they were often hired internationally by various magical ministries. They were hunters of all kinds of magical criminal creatures. It was even said that the patriarch of the family had once killed a horde of rampaging dragons in China with his bare hands. Naturally, everyone was terrified of them.

"You don't mind then?" The query came from Leoen who seemed to have lost some of the previous tension in his muscles.

"Not at all." The reply was honest. She had an inkling as to why he was so uncomfortable with stares. It was the same discomfort she had with reactions to her aura. The fear of others was off-putting. It meant having to walk with your hands tied behind your back unless you wanted people to think you had some form of ill will towards them. It meant ostracisation by your peers.

The Volkov's had done nothing to her, and they seldom hunted criminals who operated through the methods of contracting she did. Therefore, she would approach the situation neutrally. The boy was just a child, and in her opinion, there was no point in letting him suffer pointlessly. There was little logic in acting like he was going to murder her in her sleep. If he had the capability, she could do nothing to stop him. If he lacked the skill, he would be dead before her anyway.


	19. 17) Strong Hands

A right palm struck the left arm of the wooden dummy. One. She cycled her left palm to the right. Two. Her wrist turned to flat hand the three followed by a simultaneous drive of right to left and left palm to the main pole. Another loud clack and the silent four. Each strike was fluid and powerful, with enough force to cause a resounding clack in the dorm room. She was focused on making minimal but deadly movements. Alana switched hand positions for five and dropped her right hand to the wooden arm for six. A final strike signalled seven. Rinse and repeat. She slowly but surely picked up speed until the sound of flesh hitting wood became a steady beat. Regular martial arts training had proven effective in keeping the growth and control of Alana's magic at a stable rate where most experienced fluctuations and random growth spurts throughout their youth.

Wing Chun was an internal based martial art much like the ki based Aikido, Bagua and, of course, Tai Chi. Mr Matthews had experienced a few forms of martial arts and learnt Kung Fu and the basics of Wing Chun before finally choosing to pursue Karate as his preferred style. Alana had found Wing Chun to come easier to her as the more technical form relied on bone alignment rather than sheer muscular strength. It aimed to intercept a strike so an opening could be created for her own as she pressed forward. It was a shame she had no sparring partner to trade blows with as solo training was not as effective.

Chinese internal martial arts focused on internal energy as opposed to external ones that emphasized physical strength and agility. Internal energy or 'life energy' had been referred to in many of the more ancient scrolls Alana had salvaged from Romania and Azrael. It was the spiritual fluid which flowed through the body's meridians or organs. It was magic. Alana's mind had been blown at the revelation at the time. Squibs were limited to internal energy which flowed slowly while a wizard's magic core allowed them to control the energy leaving their body and thus allowed spells to be cast. The Chinese Ministry of Magic had been the first to discover the presence of squibs with the highest population in the magical world. Although most were kept ignorant of their lineage for security reasons, it made sense that they had the most records of related studies as a result. China was the source of internal martial arts.

Alana was soaked in sweat by the time she finished her morning exercise, so she took a quick shower before heading into the commons. Leoen was in the same seat as the day before with a barely masked look of expectation on his face. She plonked her booty across from him and savoured the way it bounced on the couch. Thus began their first official chess game. She lost very quickly. This was followed by two more swift blows to her pride before he decided to show mercy on her and suggest they head to the Great Hall. He looked slightly nauseous as he said the words. She would have been touched if she hadn't been imagining a giant wizarding chess piece lopping off his head. He must have taken her smile as an affirmative.

She truly wondered how there appeared to be more people staring at the pair as they ate. Leoen had come off to her as a chill kind of guy though she had known him for barely a day. He had spent the day before showing her around the castle so she wouldn't die a horrible death in some forbidden corridor. It had been pleasant, and she had met his owl Zayla who had a mean streak a mile wide. She shuddered at the thought of what monster Auxilium and Zayla would spawn should they ever procreate. There was an unspoken agreement to keep the birds as far apart as possible. Charlotte and Lola had joined them again for lunch before the four of them left for the library. The latter two had come to some sort of an agreement to adopt a 'wait and see' policy towards Leoen. Such mature kids she had found. Alana had been expecting the worst with ages thirteen to fourteen, but they were fine. She probably would have found an education gap with the first year muggle-borns, but by third year, the Ravenclaws had closed that gap already.

The library was stunning. Not on the same level as Gaia's but much more interesting with mile-high shelves of magic tomes. She had shown admirable restraint in front of her new allies and not thrown herself on the nearest shelf in joy. Today was her first day of classes, and she had already received several warnings from her classmates on her teachers. She had an unusually large number of classes as she had selected an extra elective and had to take broom flying lesson. She was dreading the later as instant death wasn't on her to-do list. She would have to learn the spell Dawlish had used on her.

**_Core Subjects:_**

_Transfiguration - Minerva McGonagall_

_Astronomy - Aurora Sinistra_

_Charms - Filius Flitwick_

_Defence against the Dark Arts - Karis Curio_

_Herbology - Ponoma Sprout_

_History of Magic - Cuthbert Binns_

_Potions - Severus Snape_

**_Electives:_**

_Flying - Rolanda Hooch_

_Ancient Runes - Bathsheda Babbling_

_Care of Magical Creatures - Silvanus Kettleburn_

_Arithmancy - Septima Vector_

First on her timetable was double potions with the Slytherins. She died a little inside when she read that. It was the equivalent of having Calculus every Monday morning. Lola left the group with a final farewell to her childhood friend, and they headed to the dungeons.

Alana had decided she liked the dungeons the seconds the well-lit corridors gave way to darker, twistier ones. She was told by Leoen that the passages became more maze-like the deeper one went. The thought of countless hidden passages had excitement bubbling in her chest. She would have to investigate the likelihood of any Slytherins cursing her for encroaching on their territory before she mapped the place out. She switched places with Leoen's previous partner who had the audacity to hug her with a grateful smile before he joined another student. She discreetly cast a cleaning charm on herself, catching the eye of a Slytherin in the process. He gave her an approving nod. Dear Merlin. She realised a second after that the boy to hug her had probably not been a pureblood. At least no one was spouting off blood supremacy propaganda in class.

Severus Snape, on the other hand, was an asshole. Her pity died when he dropped some verbal abuse on one of the Ravenclaws. There wasn't any particular reason either. His insults were pretty good though… She hadn't thought it possible to throw so much shade with one sentence. The tall man's hair was well ruined by potion fumes, and his mouth was set into a permanent scowl below his hooked nose. His clothes were his only minutely redeeming feature, tidy black robes that swished as he made his way down the role call.

"Ah, Miss Vincent. Let's hope your parents taught you more than those of your classmates."

"They're dead, sir." Silence. Sweet and blissful silence. She savoured it while the others shifted awkwardly. Yessssss, feel the discomfort, my children. Professor Snape cleared his throat before going to the next name. Alana gave the curious Leoen an innocent smile and mouthed 'later'. She had assumed he'd heard her telling Charlotte and Lola her tragic story on the train, but it appeared he had not.

Potions class was a breeze for Alana. She had been studying it for some time and memorised the properties and interactions of most ingredients, so it wasn't particularly surprising. The Ravenclaws as a whole performed well in the subject, but Professor Snape was known to be as biased as he was lacking in hair products.

Potions was followed by a lunch break and then Charms with the Hufflepuffs. Professor Flitwick was his usual energetic self. You really wouldn't guess the man to be any part goblin based on his demeanour. Charms was Charlotte's favourite subject, and it soon became evident why. The witch performed every spell flawlessly and with an amazing breadth of control. Alana followed her achievements closely as she adjusted to using less magic in her spells. She was careful not to cause the object to explode rather than inflate. It was interesting to note the spells they were being taught required a lot less intent and control than more complex ones. She thought it was particularly negligent of the school as those were the features of a spell that made the difference between failure and success in more difficult casting. It was one thing to control the output of magic, but another thing entirely to manipulate one's magic outside of the body. Leoen seemed to find the last bit difficult, so she suggested for him to try detaching _Lumos_ from his wand some time. It was more challenging to do than the levitating charm and quickly pointed out the faults in your technique and concentration.

The final class was Defense Against the Dark Arts (DADA), and it was with the Gryffindors. The subject made her want to jump out the window in all honesty. So. Much. Propaganda. Professor Karis Curio reminded her of when people try to make a caveman impression. 'Dark bad. Light good. Wizard be good, not bad.' You get the point. It was with excruciating pain and the voluntary death of a few hundred brain cells that she crawled out of the class alive. The worst thing was that most of the students found the subject interesting. She felt sick hearing Charlotte's praises and wept quietly. Leoen was the only sane wizard around it seemed. He looked just as disgruntled as she was by the new teacher.

"A load of rubbish," He mumbled, and she nodded in agreement.

"A person's physical aura has nothing to do with their magical aura," She hissed back.

"I'll say. My mother's magic is light as daylight, and her physical aura looks like hell incarnate," He whispered back.

"Even if it made sense for wizards and witches, vampires have physical auras as well without a magical core. It's just stupidity. Where in Merlin's name did this idiot get his credentials."

The two complained in hushed voices as they made their way down the corridors towards the black lake. There was a clique of Slytherins there, but the good relations between the houses meant they'd likely just ignore each other.

"I hope the curse on his position gets him soon. I don't think I can take another session of having propaganda shoved down my throat." Alana said a little louder as she stretched. The lake was a lovely sight after such a depressing hour and a half. Leoen smirked good-naturedly at her words as he found a tree to lounge under.

"Just have Defense, did you? I had Curio third period, and all he could talk about was how great Britain is. I hear he's from Brazil." The voice was from a Slytherin. Alana flicked lazy gold eyes to the boy and noted his familiarity. The blonde boy from Potions. He was rather unusual for a snake to be giving away such information so easily as well as initiating a conversation with a member of another house. Then again, maybe he was just that annoyed. "Lucian Bole," The boy introduced once Alana had looked at him. Leoen was watching the exchange carefully.

"Alana Vincent. Well met, Bole." She vaguely remembered the correct pureblood manners for newly acquainted witches and wizards. You rarely saw the greeting at Hogwarts as every pureblood already knew each other before school.

"Well met, Vincent." The blonde smiled before turning to Volkov a bit stiffly. It would be a faux pas to not greet Volkov after greeting his friend. "Well met, Volkov."

"Well met, Bole. Leoen is fine." Alana resisted the urge to chuckle as Bole stared.

One must know that Leoen held little regard for such practices unless it was amongst adults. The offered intimacy of his first name was mostly to avoid confusion with his older brother, who was in Slytherin. He had mentioned his brother in passing, but she sensed they were distant as far as siblings went.

"Then I must insist you call me Lucian as well. Both of you." Lucian was about to cry. He only wanted to talk to a like-minded pureblood, and now the younger Volkov permitted him to use his first name. Surely, this was a sign of his impending death. His mother had told him to never reach too far above his station in life, and now he was greeting renowned killers. _'I'm sorry, mother.'_ The boy prayed in his heart to live another day. Meanwhile, Alana's mind was on more interesting things.

"I suppose the content of his class makes perfect sense then if he is from Brazil." Her comment was met with black stares from all present. This included another Slytherin witch in their year and two older looking ones who appeared to be related. They quickly tried to mask their ignorance, but it was little use under her sharp eyes. She gave them an indulgent smile.

"There was a coup in Brazil a few decades back that left it under the military rule. Rapid economic growth led to a lot of inflation issues, and they tried to halt it by reducing the power of their governing body but failed. Unsurprisingly, the increase in political freedoms let the anti-dark magic movement, which had previously been a minority, gain traction. The leader they elected last year has been pushing for some radical magical reforms to stop the movement. The whole issue has resulted in civil conflict, especially with the indigenous clans refusing to change any of their sacred rituals regardless of their friendliness. The immigration issues it's caused have been such a pain."

Alana rubbed her head at the memory of Raoul's letters which were rife with complaints. She felt a migraine coming on. The situation had some similarities with Britain, which had mass emigration during the second wizarding world. It was just as well she was lost in thought because if she had looked up, she would have seen some disturbing looks on the Slytherin's faces. They were calculating the benefits of an alliance with this new source of information. It also hadn't slipped by them how her reaction suggested familiarity with the issue. Two of them were already planning to write letters to their parents to get information on the Vincent family. Leoen was glaring at the Slytherins heatedly, but they hardly noticed. He was not the least bit amused by their plotting.


	20. 18) For The Love Of Books

**1990 October**

**_Creation: Capricorn V_**

_Species: Library System_

_Level: 19_

_Capable of mind defence, complex thought and processing 17900 words per hour. New Skill: Legilimency (Active)_

**_Creation: Aquarius IV_**

_Species: Inventory System_

_Level: 32_

_Capable of storing 33 objects. Summoning cost decrease tripled._

**_Creation: Pisces III_**

_Species: Healing System_

_Level: 25_

_Magic focus increased x2 Dexterity increased x2 Precision increased x2_

Alana held the slice of newt tail over the cauldron carefully as a drop of sweat ran down her forehead. The timing for this potion was essential, and she dared not mess it up. 3,2,1. The limb met the simmering liquid inside, and she gave it three clockwise stirs with a glass rod before shutting off the heat. The liquid inside turned a startling shade of green before it congealed into a black sludge.

"I have created life!" The fourteen-year-old witch cackled in delight as she scooped the sleekeazy's hair potion into glass jars. She was determined to get the same silky smooth hair as Lola, and what she wanted, she would get. She left the jars to cool in her trunk potion lab and smoothed her uniform before heading to breakfast. The usual lavish meal covered the oak tables. Alana made her way to her seat in the Great Hall. Leoen already knew what she'd been doing and gave her a brief greeting before returning to his apple slices.

The last month had yielded several accomplishments for the witch. She had finally found an answer as to why Ravenclaw had an eagle as a mascot. Apparently, the 'raven' in the name Ravenclaw was meant to denote colour rather than the animal. Who'd have thought? Alana had also managed to make Pisces invisible. She asked politely. The king of Ravenclaw was right; courtesy can take one far. About two weeks into the term, she found out she was a good few years ahead in Runes, so she mostly read ahead in that class with the promise of future advanced assignments by Professor Babbling. Charlotte had pouted at her all week when she found out. She wasn't sure why the brunette wanted more homework. History turned out to be a joke, and only Lola paid any attention. She felt no shame in leeching off the girl's notes from time to time.

Then there were flight classes. Never had Alana hated a class more in her life. Her hatred mainly stemmed from the fact that she had to take it with first years and that the teacher had no problem singling her out for demonstrations. Words cannot describe the pain. She was tempted to obliviate a few minds after she fell off the broom while trying to get off. Never again.

Lola looked particularly downcast that morning.

"You alright, Lola?" Charlotte asked, but the blonde didn't seem to hear. She gave her friend a tap on the shoulder to pull her out of her thoughts. Alana and Leoen were already giving the two questioning looks.

"Oh! I'm fine it's just…" Lola seemed lost for words, but she soon gathered herself. "Do you remember that Matthews boy a year above us? I heard he got caught sneaking into the restricted section last night."

"Again?" Charlotte wondered what went through the boy's head. He was one of the few loners in the house with no solid group of friends. He seemed to float along aimlessly most days.

Alana's ears were ringing as soon as she heard the topic of their discussion. Jake had been anything but a rule breaker back in primary school, but she supposed that people could change.

"What's he looking for in there?" That was the question, wasn't it? What could he possibly want that he would put so much at risk for it? Muggleborns wouldn't be given a second glance before being expelled.

"A potion maybe? I heard he's very good at that subject," Lola answered. Leoen had perked up at Alana's interest in the male and wanted to ask her about it.

"We can always just ask. If it's something I have, then I don't mind lending it." Charlotte had a look of easy confidence as she searched for the boy.

"He'll be in the library," Lola informed her friend. It seemed a group trip was in order. The group wove their way towards the library and fanned out to find Jake Matthews. Alana headed to the west end while Leoen took the east. When they still couldn't find the boy, they had no choice but to head to class.

"I found out what book Matthews was looking for. I don't suppose any of you have Potions Curiose? It's a recent publication, so I don't have it." The words fell from Charlotte's sharp tongue during breakfast a few days later.

"I'll have to check after classes," Alana told the girl. She was eager to provide the book should it be amongst her volumes.

"Actually, I was hoping to catch you after classes." Leoen interrupted. She turned to question the boy, but Charlotte bet her to it.

"Will it take long?" Her signature purple eyes narrowed.

"I wanted to take her to the Fencing Club that starts up today," He explained before turning back to Alana. "I thought it was something you would be interested in."

Alana was somewhat conflicted. Fencing sounded fantastic, and if the sign-ups were just today, then it wouldn't kill anyone to search her books tomorrow. She frowned before she nodded.

"I'll check my books tomorrow then."

The Fencing Club was unsurprisingly supervised by Professor Flitwick who adored all things combat and sparring related. The location, however, was a bit amusing. The group met in a classroom precariously placed on the border between Gryffindor Tower and the Slytherin Dungeons. The placement was explained by the members of the group. Alana spied a few recognisable faces including Percy Weasly a fourth-year Gryffindor, Penelope Clearwater a fourth-year Ravenclaw, and Peregrine Derrick a Slytherin in their year. The rest of the group consisted of three older Slytherins and two more Gryffindors. There was an obvious Slytherin-Gryffindor majority. Leoen led Alana towards one of the older Gryffindors who smiled and greeted the Ravenclaw boy familiarly.

His name was Rowan Blackwood. She wondered if his parents dealt in wand woods or they just had a strange sense of humour. He was a giant compared to her but fortunate to have an agile build. His hair was a copper brown and his eyes a dark green that reminded her of the forest. Al in all, the boy was rather attractive for a fifth year.

"Bring a friend, did you, Leoen? Better hide her from your brother. He's been jumping for a spar this past week." The boy indicated a male further back in the room.

Alana sweatdropped at the indicated boy who was staring at a wall with his sword in hand. He could have been a statue for all he moved. Who exactly was jumping for a fight here?

"You should go and let him beat you up then," Leoen replied leisurely, and she saw a few tears in Blackwood's eyes. Such cruelty. The fifth-year gave them each a wooden sword after adjusting them with a few spells. The swords shimmered, and their wooden appearance was replaced with the illusion of a metal sword.

"Nice," Alana couldn't help but whistle appreciatively.

Flitwick flitted over to the two students for introductions, and Leoen assured him that he'd teach her the basics while the professor could review her. They started with the correct stance then moved on to the basic techniques: the lunge (attack), parry (defend) and riposte (the counter-attack following a parry). There were four main lunges to learn: high outside, low outside, high inside, and low inside. They spent a good two hours before they headed back to the common room with their muscles burning pleasantly. She felt a bit bad that Leoen hadn't had the chance to spar with the others, but the boy didn't seem to mind. She felt a yawn coming and decided an early night was in order. She hadn't had to learn a new skill for a while and wondered how Capricorn would hold up.

She woke up earlier the next day for the express purpose of finding Potions Curiose. After finishing her usual exercises, she slipped into her MindScape. It had been a while since she'd last done this. It was an absolute mess. There were books and papers everywhere surrounding the space and no Capricorn to be found.

"Capricorn!" She yelled as she tried to sort and wade through the mess at the same time. A frown marred her features as the goat finally made an appearance.

"Creator," He intoned patiently.

"Don't 'creator' me. What's with this mess?" She grilled the literal product of her imagination.

"I seem to be lacking space to place your memories." She gave the creature a deadpan expression.

"You're in a library. Surely you can find some space." She moved to a shelf and tugged one of the blank books out. The goat grinned creepily and replaced the space with a different book.

"You're joking… You can't empty the shelves of any of the books." She placed a cold hand to her forehead in frustration."How have I been learning anything with this going on?"

"I have been processing everything, but you have been writing the information into your long term memory yourself, creator. You have a very good comprehension level and memory so you must not have noticed."

She groaned inwardly. She thought she would have noticed the difference between eidetic memory and her natural learning speed but apparently not. Whether that spoke of skill or stupidity was the question of the day. She considered the possibility of Azrael's feeding having improved her brain's ability to create connections if only temporarily. That would have been awesome. A second possibility was that his death had harmed her mentally to the point where Capricorn's abilities were twisted. It didn't really matter in the end. She would fix it. Alana emptied a shelf of blank books, and Capricorn set to work organising the papers into books to replace them. She would get a headache after this, but she had a potion that would fix it. Hopefully.

Several shelves later, she returned to her dorm room, exhausted. She rubbed her eyes tiredly before heaving her body upwards. She still had a book to find. She had searched her memories for the book and was relieved to find she had it. Unfortunately, it was at home, which meant owling Marius. Que shudder. She still hadn't patched things up with the vampire. He hadn't even asked her if she wanted to go to Hogwarts. She would have answered no immediately, but it was the thought that counted. She sighed before reaching for a quill. Forgiveness was given not earned. Marius was family for all the annoyance he was. She penned her request slowly. It was an olive branch that he would hopefully take. She downed a pepper-up potion after Auxilium left with her burden and got ready for classes.

It was a few days before she got her reply form the vampire. It came sweeping into the Great Hall with Auxilium who was clutching a letter and package tightly and glaring at everyone present. She figured the only reason he hadn't mauled someone yet was that he knew he was outnumbered. Leoen was giving her bird an impressed look.

"Who's that from?" He asked with polite curiosity.

"My cousin and guardian, Marius." Her reply was non-committal as she read the contents of the letter. She heaved a sigh of relief when he wrote that he had forgiven her. Not that she thought she owed him an apology. Still, if that's what he believed the letter was, so be it. She held the book tentatively wondering how best to give it to her childhood friend.

She found him in the library as Lola had previously suggested. Her gait was a tad stiff as she approached the studying boy and cleared her throat. His head snapped up with an audible click that had her wincing slightly.

"What do you want?" Not particularly polite, but he had always had a way with words.

"I heard you were looking for Potions Curiose and I had a copy I've already read so I thought you might want it."

"Who said that I needed it?" His answer was slightly less combative but no less demanding.

"Charlotte Winters." She handed him the book which he quickly flicked through to check its authenticity.

"Will you thank her for me? And you as well… Thank you." She nodded at the sincere request and darted out the hall. She could faintly hear Madam Pince chastising her for running through the library. She couldn't imagine why as her footsteps were silent as always.


	21. 19) To Be A Witch

**1990 October**

"Are you two planning on celebrating Samhain this year?" Charlotte asked a few days before the event in question. Leoen and Alana looked up at the same time.

"I was planning to do it alone as usual," Leoen replied. Like Alana, he too had a dorm room to himself and was able to do such activities.

"I've never celebrated before." All three of Alana's friends' heads snapped in her direction.

"Seriously? I thought you'd be the type," Lola piped up. She shrugged casually. Alana wasn't sure what that meant but hoped it to be a compliment.

Samhain, or Halloween as the muggles called it, was a seasonal festival observed by most magical creatures. It was a Sabbat to honour one's ancestors, celebrate the end of harvest, and follow the cycle of life and death. The event was very spiritual as it occurred when the veil between worlds was at its thinnest. That was the main reason she had avoided the celebration in the past years. Considering her patron's personality and previous interactions with her, she wasn't eager to tread too close to the being.

"The older years hold a small ritual for those who still follow the Old Ways if you're interested in starting." Alana smiled at Charlotte and accepted the invitation. _'What's the worst that can happen?'_ Leoen opted out as he preferred a more private ritual.

Alana spent the next few days reading up on the Old Ways. She'd finally sorted out her MindScape with Capricorn, so her thoughts were flowing far easier. There were very few books on the subject in the Hogwart's library, but she found an abundance of them in those she had taken from her home. The Apuseni had been generous in giving her the books. She also anonymously owl ordered some more books on pureblood etiquette from the publishers of some of the incomplete volumes she had. She'd rather not be lumped in the same group of uncultured swine most muggle-borns were put in.

October 31 came soon enough, and she found herself sitting on a cushion in the Ravenclaw common room at 4:50 pm sunset. A respectful silence hung in the air within the two rings of seated magicals. Half of the room had been cleared of all furniture where they were sitting, and an altar was placed in the centre. It was covered with wilting vines, skulls, apples and dark bread - symbols of the harvest and death.

The eldest present was the one to light the three candles on the altar. These were meant to guide the dead. She bowed her head in memory of her ancestors before she spoke, "With this first candle we light the way for those who have come before us. With this second candle, we light the way for those who are here with us today. With this third candle, we light the way for those who will join us in the future." The girl poured a goblet of wine and placed it beside the meal. "With this meal, we give thanks for the harvest." The bread was passed around the circle where everyone took a piece and ate. A few clapped their hands in prayer after they ate and Alana did the same.

The Old Ways were pagan with multiple deities existing to govern the world of magic. First and foremost was Lady Magic. Many also believed in Life, Death and Fate incarnate. Those were the main four, but there were an array of smaller deities that were worshipped. Artemis the Hunter was the patron of Werewolves, and the goblins were said to receive the patronage of Morrigan the War goddess. Most vampires considered themselves forsaken or cursed by the Gods as they were the living dead.

Alana closed her eyes and envisioned those she had lost. Her father, her mother, Azrael. She silently thanked the deities for the shortness of that list when she herself had reaped thousands. She envisioned those she had struck down so mercilessly. She remembered their faces clearly. The Wallachia vampires, Nicholas Borges, and so many more. She had accepted their blood on her hands when she had taken the jobs. Life and death. This was the cycle of being. She opened her eyes as the speaker began her chant in low Latin. She spoke of the need to honour one's ancestors and beseeched the deities to aid her in her goal. She finally switched to English.

"With my magic, I beseech thee, patron of mine Lady of Magic."

"With my magic, I beseech thee, patron of mine Lady of Fate."

"With my magic, I beseech thee, patron of mine Lady of Magic."

"With my magic, I beseech thee, patron of mine Lord of Flame."

The chant went around the circle, and one could feel the energy in the room increase as it did. The voices became almost musical in their quality with lilting syllables that hummed in the air. Alana's voice joined the mixture. There was only one deity she would call on regardless of their disposition.

"With my magic, I beseech thee, patron of mine Master of Death."

It was a domineering title that suited the creature who had so callously wielded her soul. She felt a shiver of approval that she wasn't sure was entirely her own. Death had no master but himself, but he would accept an acolyte. He would accept her soul freely given. Alana barely noticed the magic in the air thicken as the ritual neared its end. She was lost in the pleasure that thrummed beneath her skin. It was magnificent. It was surreal. It was...Ding!

Her eyes snapped open with awareness, and her raging aura snarled against its shackles before she pinned it into submission.

**Notification: You completed a ritual!**

Reward: Magical power increased by 50% (duration: 7 days)

**Notification: You have received a new title!**

Title: Follower of Death

New Skill: Language of the dead (active)

You now have the ability to commune with Death's servants

Sometimes she didn't know whether she wanted to kiss or kill whatever was behind these notifications. This was one of those moments.

She hit the books with gusto to confirm her suspicions and found the text she wanted soon enough. It was a diary by a German monk who spent several years praying to the Lord of Flame every day and was blessed with the ability to wield fire. Another was a book exploring Parseltongue and its possible roots in the blessing of an old snake god in India. There were a few more citing similar thoughts. 'Death's servants' was the term usually used to refer to inferi, dementors and the like. Dementors she knew had a language as the Ministry had to hire a translator to negotiate their contract with the beings. Inferi had no individual will as far as she was aware though. It was far too vague, and she was still assuming Death's servants were in fact dead. Why did her patron have to make her life so complicated?

**1990 November**

Alana relaxed against the railing of the astronomy tower as Professor Sinistra continued her monologue on the significance of the moon cycle for magical creatures. The sky was a black canvas sprawled with glittering stars. Poetically anyway. It was a sight most would only dream of seeing in their lifetime. The railing she leaned against provided little protection against the chilling breeze that swept in from the forbidden forest. Rickety as it was, she would not have been surprised if the structure caved under her weight.

"Is the sky really so interesting that you have to stare at it for half an hour, Alana? I'm pretty sure you finished the class task of observing the moon patterns forty minutes ago." Lucian Bole had checked for the younger Volkov's presence before approaching the female Ravenclaw. It wouldn't do to be caught unawares, and the boy was like a guard dog around his new friend. Alana brought her gaze down to rest on the Slytherin. She presented him with a roguish smile.

"Didn't you hear the professor? Astronomy is so very important for us magicals that I thought deep contemplation would lead to a breakthrough in my cultivation," She replied mysteriously. Meanwhile, Lucian was staring at her wide-eyed. _'Cultivation? What is this? Is it a spell or forbidden tome that she somehow got her hands on? I must know!'_ Lucian schemed various plans on how to get her to explain 'cultivation' without admitting his own ignorance. Alana lamented the poor poker face skills of the Slytherins she had met. The boy's intentions were written clearly on his face. She'd heard of the legendary skills of the Slytherin elite, so it was anticlimactic to see their future successors flailing so disgracefully.

She returned to her stargazing thoughtfully. It was obvious that Lucian thought he had something to gain by befriending her. She wasn't about to correct the boy either. Being greeted by the odd Slytherin in the corridor had been annoying at first, but once the initial introductions had passed, the polite nod in her direction was a pleasant exchange. Lucian was from a distant side-branch of the Malfoy family with little influence in Britain, but he seemed well acquainted with most of the lesser houses. The lesser pureblood houses, in general, were far more cordial as they could be ruined more easily by an inter-family conflict. She had heard there were only a few major players in Slytherin with the majority joining in the coming year. It was somewhat humorous that the pureblood ladies all planned their pregnancies so carefully, but she could understand why. It was easier to keep alliances between those of similar ages.

She stared at the long drop from the astronomy tower as she thought. The house rivalry between Slytherin and Gryffindor had been tame so far. Quidditch was the obvious exception to this, but that was normal. Having a generation of heirs join the school next year would throw the balance into disarray. She could already see the signs in the subtle shifts in house hierarchy. Percy Weasley had fortunately managed to dig his claws into the position of head prefect, so she didn't have to worry for the boy she found herself sparring with after Leoen. The Ravenclaws were withdrawing slowly but steadily from the school community, and the Hufflepuffs were organising themselves, so each year's representative was made clear to the masses. The Slytherins were the only ones not to make any outright moves as they were always prepared for such shifts in the tide. It was both terrifying and exhilarating to see the older years manoeuvre their houses into position like generals preparing for war. It was a war in a way. It would be raged silently from the moment the first years stepped onto Hogwarts soil. She almost pitied the children.

"Alana, I'm heading back to the dorm now. Are you coming along?" It was Charlotte who interrupted her melancholy and jolted her from her thoughts.

"Mhm. I'll come with," She answered the witch.

"I just finished as well. It would be my pleasure to accompany you back," Lucian added on. Charlotte shot the boy a suspicious and slightly uncomfortable look. She couldn't exactly refuse after he asked so politely. Alana was silently laughing at her predicament. Charlotte wasn't one for the Slytherin brand of friendship and tended to avoid the lot.

"Alright then." The stiff reply had her outright grinning. It was fortunate neither noticed.

The walk back was… interesting. Lucian kept asking how Charlotte's family was and if their business was going well. Charlotte's replies were always short and uninterested. Her parents were both purebloods who dealt in the trading of furs, but she rarely spoke of them. The Slytherin didn't seem to understand the social cues to switch topic, so Alana decided to finally help them both out.

"Are you planning to join any clubs, Lucian?" She asked.

The question led to the topic of Quidditch which Charlotte was far fonder of. She was intrigued by the charms placed on the brooms and uniforms of professional league players. Alana already knew Lucian planned on joining the team next year along with his closest friend Peregrine Derrick. The quickly dissipating awkwardness was cherished by both girls.


	22. 20) Yule Break

**1990 December**

Yule rolled around, and Alana returned to London with the satisfaction of a well-fed cat. The last few days had her jittery, but she was rather proud of how well she had held up with not having had a job for over three months. The key to her success had been in keeping herself busy. Hogwarts had proved itself to be an excellent source of entertainment and distraction for the young witch. Occupying herself had never been easier, and she had often found herself straying from the beaten path in the corridors and winding up in the strangest of places. It would seem she hadn't been the only one with strong emotions regarding the return home either, though the sentiment was likely different. Leoen had set a newspaper on fire when the topic was breached in a rather rare display of accidental magic. She had asked at some point why the Volkov's sent their children to Hogwarts, and his reply explained his trepidation. Hogwarts had the highest mortality rate. The answer was rather telling, but she wasn't one to judge the parenting skills of strangers.

Speaking of parenting skills, Marius seemed indifferent to her return, but the silence that had been between them when she left had lifted. The eternally-teen vampire acted like nothing had happened which suited Alana just fine. She was far more eager to experiment with her non-traceable wand than engage in small talk. She had also learnt that Marius and Otavio had formed a tentative friendship in her absence. Otavio had been the one to inform her of that little fact while inviting her to spend a few days with his coven during Yule. He seemed to have gotten the hint from her nefarious colleagues that she was something of an intermediary for the workers of Knockturn. Alana foresaw an increase in her popularity in the near future now that Otavio had extended his hand for a closer relationship. Harley's had run smoothly in her absence with minor aid from Raoul whom she'd informed of her enrollment at Hogwarts. The bastard had laughed at her misery over the floo call.

Alana sprawled across a satin couch with an arcane text in her hands. Sometimes she wondered if vampires had anything better to do than collect books. Octavio's collection was interesting if a bit above her comprehension level. He had a lot of old tomes on muggle history and ancient spells. For whatever reason, he thought the subjects worth his attention. The mansion he had purchased and then expanded was a lovely building with Italian curves and roman edges. The architecture was reminiscent of the designs she had seen whilst in Romania. Perhaps, it was a Vampire trend? The coven itself had about thirteen members currently with a slow rate of expansion. The small number was hardly surprising as members of the Spanish, French and Italian coven would naturally be reluctant to leave their much larger and more influential groups for Britain.

Another vampire passed through the doorway of the library and stiffened. His nostrils flared when he heard breathing, but he caught no scent and quickly switched to his sight to find the source.

"Try to drink from me without permission, and you'll end up worse than the last one," Alana drawled whilst using a single hand to motion to the pile of cold flesh and fabric on the ground. The female vampire wasn't dead but may very well be wishing she were with Alana's use of a paralysing charm and nightmare curse. The joys of having an unregistered wand from Gregorovitch. The male quickly grabbed the book he wanted and left. He was smart enough to heed a warning when given.

**1990 December**

In an old building stowed away in the shadowed corners of Knockturn Alley, a young girl shifted a black game piece over a white. She leaned back into her seat to eye the man across from her. He made his turn, and she struck.

"You've got to be shitting me!" Came the tell-tale curse as the man lost yet another game of Nine Men's Morris to the cloaked witch. She gave a hidden smile as he put another bag of knuts on the table. It had quickly become apparent to the customers of Harley's that strategy-based games against Sparrow were a lost cause. Nevertheless, a few patrons still felt pity for the poor man.

"I've got a job for us!" The fist that slammed down on the table belonged to a burly man Alana was regretfully familiar with. Raymond's grey eyes were rooted on the significantly smaller form of the fourteen-year-old. She glared at the male for interrupting her state of relaxation and slipped her mouth mask down to scowl at the man.

"Didn't we just finish a job? What's so great that you feel the need to interrupt my well-deserved leisure time?"

"How do you feel about putting that wand to use?" He grinned, and she reluctantly gestured for him to elaborate. "One of the western European packs needs some strays taken care of. A group of four messed with the locals and turned a few before running off. The pay is 200 galleons a head split 50/50." There was a brief pause before she replied.

"A hunt then?" Alana caught the reason he'd enlisted her easily enough. The werewolves would have trouble hiding from one tracking wizard, but a second would be impossible. She grinned maliciously. The pay was too good to turn down, and he knew it.

They set up camp a few kilometres off from where the Danube river met the Slovakia-Austria border. It was still the early hours of the evening when they began to move. Four wolves, three females and one male with each possessing a wand and the ability to use it. It was a suicide mission for most and admittedly, not that strange of an occurrence for Raymond. There was a reason most wand-users who were bitten were turned away from the wizarding world. They tended towards aggression, and their magic waxed and waned with the moon in both power and control. Raymond and Alana had chosen to hunt on the night of the full moon, despite their increased power on that night. Control was their main concern, and the power fluctuation would make them easier to track where usually werewolves provided a challenge. The mobile group's tracks had become more evident as the full moon neared. Raymond had placed a blood trace on one of the bones of a human not fortunate enough to survive the werewolves attack, and the potency of the spell increased with every minute.

She knew this job would in no way be easy, but it was a chance to get a feel for the werewolf community, and she couldn't pass that up. Alana watched her partner warily. She had never before worked with him on a full moon, but she was confident that, at the very least, the man knew the limits of his self-control. He was a werewolf as well, but he had, or at least he claimed to have learnt enough tricks in his many years to overcome the troubles that label brought.

"Quit your worrying," The man directed a frown in her direction, and she smiled sheepishly at being caught. They both knew the risks of taking this job. Raymond huffed and twisted to observe their immediate surroundings. His grey eyes would pick up any trail easily. A dark brown coat hung loosely from his shoulders, lending an air of grace that was otherwise absent from the male. His hair was cut short for convenience and ruffled messily from the previous night's sleep in the forest. He stilled and breathed deeply.

"South. Four kilometres and moving fast."

It took only a blink for them both to start moving.

Raymond took the lead as per usual and practically leapt through the foliage with an ease rarely found in a living creature. Pisces curled around Alana's neck in a mock embrace while she shadowed him silently. She was grateful she had performed a physical enhancement ritual on the night of Yule. The effects were astounding, and the timing had only maximised its impact. There had been no title earned, but she hadn't expected one in the first place.

Scrsh! Fwssh!

Company at 3 o'clock. Alana grabbed a branch and swung herself upwards just in time to avoid a painful body collision with a 6 foot 3 female werewolf. She landed on a branch and quickly activated the runes lining her equipment. Her movements were as unearthly as any magical creature's as she jumped several branches away. Lightening charms ensured her movements went unnoticed as she landed softly near Raymond's current battle. The wolves' attempt to separate the two hunters had been mediocre at best.

"They've split 2-2! I want them pinned Sparrow!" Raymond's shout was as loud as ever as he raised a gun towards toward his two targets and fired six shots successively. The two women dodged most of the metal projectiles though the two that grazed them left searing scars where they made contact. The usual devastation the hand-crafted, silver bullets inflicted was lessened as the moon had already risen and was dulling whatever pain the wolves might have felt. Their powers were already piquing, but their more animalistic forms would only emerge once the sun had set. It was a dangerous time to be around one werewolf, let alone four. Alana sent out a controlled wave of magic with her wand in a quick and silent _Homenum Revelio_. Her targets' locations popped up in her mind, followed by a map of the surrounding area when she cast a _Terrenum Revelio._ Her legs did not falter in their journey as she cast. She couldn't afford to waste a second of her time.

The male werewolf quickened his pace as soon as his wife sensed they were being tracked. He held his teenage son in his arms closer to his chest. The small boy had gotten moon fever a few nights before, and neither of his parents had the means to tend to it. He cursed as his joints began to ache. The moon would claim him soon, and he only hoped his son would last the night in his weakened state. A thump sounded behind him, but he didn't dare turn to see who it was. He pulled his wand out and cast a blind _Bombarda _behind his head. It was a messy casting and easily avoided. He threw a few nastier curses, but it was to no avail, and the presence that had been following had not abated. It finally forced him to turn to face the unknown danger. Only, there was no one there.

After a moment's hesitation, a length of metal pierced his back. His son was dropped to the ground, forgotten as he twisted to successfully dislodge the blade. Alana ducked the fist that came for her head and lamented the man's fast reaction. Her knife had barely made it in a centimetre before she was forced to bring it back. She brought the hilt of the blade up in a neck chop as the man's punch overextended.

"Fuck!" She had regretfully been unaware of the steel-like strength of the man's skin to anything that was not silver. She hadn't realised it was so close to sunset. As soon as the thought passed, she heard the crack of bones and pulled her body back as the man hunched over. His skin writhed on his skeleton as it stretched and contorted. His clothes ripped as long hind legs and copious amounts of black fur grew from his body. She crouched lower and switched the dagger to her left and with a wand in her right. The man raised his head upwards sharply revealing an inhuman snout with small, beady eyes. The wolf shot forward with a growl, and the witch threw her body to the left. Her wand cut upwards, and a gash appeared on the chest of the beast only to heal itself in a matter of seconds.

"Diffindo! Everte Statum! Flipendo!" The wolf was thrown back several feet, but it brushed the impact off easily. Alana cursed the damn creature. She had forgotten how infuriating they were to fight with, and it seemed like a full moon made them a million times worse. It was little wonder why the ministry was constantly antsy about a werewolf rebellion.

"Fumos Duo!" She growled, and the area was swiftly covered in dark smoke. She slipped into the darkness easily. She was hardly one to give up halfway through a battle.


	23. 21) To Kill A Man

**1990 December**

The forest was cloaked in smoke for a good distance, and all that could be heard was the sniffing of an aggravated wolf. A few curses had been fired, but the wolf seemed content to fall and rise again to lash out at the nothingness surrounding him. Alana wondered if werewolves had been the inspiration for Inferi because the wolf would not stay down. She summoned Aquarius with a grimace and aimed the slime at the wolf's feet, watching as it wrapped around the creatures leg and attempted to secrete silver.

The wolf howled in agony as its left leg gave out. Her ears were left ringing by the sheer volume of the cry, and she clutched her head as a wave of dizziness hit her. She was unprepared for the blockade of magic the tore from the beast like a tsunami. It tore up the ground, tearing Aquarius to pieces and throwing her backwards. She whimpered at the burning in her chest resulting from the destruction of her summon. She could feel the impact on her mind like a window screen being fractured; not yet broken but in dire need of repair before the damage became permanent.

She brought her wand up in the motion for another spell, but it was interrupted before she could finish. She felt more than saw the creature move and found long claws pinning her arm to a tree in the span of a few breaths. She could only bite her lip as the talons tightened around her bicep and sunk into her skin. She raised her wand as the wolf got ready to infect her with its saliva or perhaps, it would just rip her to shreds.

"Quemar Alma." The Spanish syllables rolled off her tongue with unconcealed ill-intent. The wolf whimpered and backed off with its head clutched in his hands. Alana gritted her teeth against the pain. Her arm was likely broken as well as bleeding, but she couldn't afford to lose focus much less with the dark spell she was holding. She could almost feel her magic leaving her wand to keep the spell going. It was hot and thick like blood, and it entered the werewolf's veins eagerly. It burned from the inside out as its name suggested. To burn the soul. It was the darkest spell she had ever cast, and it felt heavy on her tongue.

It was like mulled wine, hot and sweet as it quenched a thirst she didn't know existed. Every type of magic had their own unique taste, but this was a shock to her system after her reliance on the more analytical mind arts and her associated summons. It was an addictive luxury that tempted you to forsake all else. She could see why families with traditionally dark magic cores kept such spells to themselves. They were both divine and repulsive in their attempt to rob you of your self. Alana could feel the throbbing heartbeat of the male, and she curled her magic around it tenderly. The spell was seductive and gentle. There was patience in the way it killed. These were the rules she had to follow to use it. Her will had to align with the spell itself.

The dark arts had a mind of its own or rather, each spell brought specific emotions from the caster to the surface and forced them to submit to them. They had the potential to both destroy and empower their caster. She had rarely delved into the subject for that reason. It was dangerous. This spell, in particular, would kill the caster if used to end a life all the while tempting them to do so. She cradled that heart and felt a purr of contentment from her magic. The wolf was trying to shove her magic from its body with its own, but he was too unfocused and without a wand after his transformation... She squeezed. The werewolf howled and clawed at its chest. The moon had long-since overcome the human rationality it once possessed. Alana moved forward slowly as she twisted her wand. Another howl of pain and she had reached the man-turned-beast. Her bleeding left hand inched towards his neck with a silver blade, and she pushed with whatever strength she had left.

Had she been more aware of her surroundings, she would not have been so foolish. Not two inches from the neck, her hand slipped as a searing pain travelled up her left calf. It was there that a young, bony werewolf pup had locked its jaws. The spell snapped, and the backlash had her falling to her knees beside a quickly recovering adult wolf. She wasted no time in kicking the pup off her and casting a blood drawing curse in the hopes of preventing infection where the pup had bit her. Her head throbbed with the use of magic, and she was painfully aware that she was reaching a limit in her endurance. She dispelled Pisces as the summon was too taxing on her. A limb collided with her body, and she stifled a cry as she was tossed across the clearing like a ragdoll. Had she thought it possible, she had no doubt she would be running, but the wolves were only increasing in ability, and she wouldn't be able to hold out in a race. Alana silently promised herself she would find a way to apparate with her underdeveloped core if she got out of this alive.

The smaller wolf pounced on her prone form, and she rolled with its movements while sliding a knife out. If the pup was foolish enough to try then no one could blame her for being ruthless. Her silver blade slid into place like a puzzle piece, and the wolf's head snapped with an audible click. It stilled almost immediately as the silver contaminated its bloodstream inducing a paralysis that would lead to eventual death if not removed soon. She shoved the body sideways and liberated herself from the weight. A nearby howl tore the night, but Alana didn't spare the sound a glance. Instead, she bore her wand down on the wolf who had cocked its head towards the call.

"Papula Caput." The bubblehead charm was easy enough and far less taxing as a neutral spell.

"Aer Evanesce." A variant of the vanishing spell she had never thought she would use what with vampires not needing to breathe. The wolf's eyes bulged as the vacuum environment began to draw oxygen from its body. She held both spells with a shaking wand arm. Fifteen seconds. Fourteen. Thirteen. Her control faltered. The wolf turned its head towards her. Eleven. _'Merlin help me.'_ The wolf moved slowly as though it wasn't sure where its limbs were. Her breaths came out in short gasps. Ten. He was too close. Nine.

"Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! What the fuck are you doing on the floor?! No sleeping on the job!" Raymond yelled as he nailed the wolf's dead body with a few more bullets. Alana coughed some blood into her sleeve. If she wasn't so grateful for his presence, she'd have beat the stupidity out of the mercenary aeons ago. She slumped backwards. Now that she considered it…

"How have you not gone all wolfy? The moon's out."

Raymond gave her his trademark grin, and his usual grey eyes appeared to be ringed with burning amber from where she stared upwards from her back.

"Trick of the trade, Sparrow. Come on! Let's get you home!" He hooked an arm under her own undamaged one and hauled her up. They say actions speak louder than words and the saying suited Raymond like a glove. Despite his earlier words, he worked around her injuries carefully, even those that weren't visible. In the end, she ended up on his back with her left arm wrapped tenderly and her chin resting in the nook between his shoulder and neck. She was surprisingly comfortable there, or she was too tired to care. She was tempted to thank the man, but it seemed… wrong. Actions spoke louder than words she supposed. She slid her eyes shut. She'd never been so confident as to sleep in the presence of any of the criminals she worked with, but she would let it slide this once.

**1991 January**

"So, how was your holiday?" Charlotte asked the first morning back.

"Pretty normal," Alana replied when it became apparent from Leoen's stiff posture that he wasn't about to answer before her.

"Fine," He mumbled half-heartedly. Charlotte left it at that. They still had a free day to get settled in before classes began again and Charlotte proposed a study session in the library. It was a sad thing to realise that not even Lola had a better suggestion. What sad lives they lived. They left to grab a study corner once breakfast was finished. Unsurprisingly, they were the only ones there. The librarian, Mrs Pince, was giving Alana a warning glance that she chose to ignore. She was a pure bean who had done nothing too untoward to the woman.

They claimed a few couches by a large table and Charlotte and Alana both flopped down elegantly. They were followed by Lola and Leoen who wanted to preserve their dignity. Each of them had their own interests, so they settled into a comfortable silence as books were steadily added to their table. Leoen was about halfway through a book on the sixth Goblin War when a group of Slytherins poked their heads past the shelves. He frowned at the interruption but chose to stare at them blankly rather than glare as they approached. He had seen his brother do the same, and the tactic proved far more effective on Slytherins.

"G-Good morning, Alana. I trust you had a pleasant Yule?" Lucian brushed of his initial stutter with the grace of a linguist. Alana hummed as she looked up from her book.

"Pleasant enough I suppose. I got a few jobs finished which was nice. And you, Lucian? How is your family?" She was hardly interested in his family, but it was customary to ask out of politeness, and Lucian did love to talk about them. She always found it amusing that no Slytherin had dared to ask what 'jobs' she did as of yet. They really did hate admitting to ignorance. She had seen an equal number of Ravenclaws with the same issue.

"You have a job?" Leoen blinked at the news. Alana facepalmed internally. _'Of all the times to ask. At least let Lucian answer me first.'_

"I have jobs. With an 's' as in plural as in contracts," She explained rather unhelpfully.

"What do people contract you for? You're fourteen," Charlotte deadpanned.

Alana blinked. How to answer this question… She considered the large number of contracts she had signed.

"Information gathering, private investigation, pest control, hmn…. I can't think of anything else at the moment…" Anything legal that is. It was a good thing she associated most of her legal work in Knockturn with her first name only. Merlin forbid the world find out about Sparrow. Such was the life of one with multiple personas. There were a large number of surprised, plotting and generally impure faces looking at her already, so she thought it best to stop. Lola was openly gaping but seemed to come back to reality quicker than the rest.

"What constitutes pest control?" She asked with wide eyes filled with innocence one couldn't help but want to corrupt.

"I got to off some Erklings a few times, deal with a fire pixie infestation and trap some gremlins. Some people have really strange tastes in pets." She considered the fellow who had tried to tame a manticore. Best not to mention that one and give the rich kids any ideas.

"Have you ever come across any snakes?" The question came from a friend of Lucian's who deemed it safe to join in the Q&A.

"An acquaintance of mine had a Swiss Viper she used engorgio on once but couldn't undo the spell after. It was rather funny actually. She had a snake the size of a small bed for an entire week before we figured out the poor thing had gotten into her potion supply and whatever it ate had affected the spell."

A few more stories got passed around, and two groups mingled quite well with Alana as a metaphorical buffer. It was strangely reminiscent of when she had Raymond, Greyson and Lilith Bathery in the same room. The latter was the owner of the Viper she had told the Slytherins about.

Leoen scowled silently as the Slytherins invaded his territory yet again. Ha! What Volkov name?! These purebloods see a bone and ignore the dog guarding it. His scowl turned into a pout. Alana was clearly becoming too interesting to these pests. Had he not been born with a strong sense of self-preservation, he would have asked his brother to deal with his housemates. Alas, his brother was both terrifying and socially inept. He caught Alana shooting him a reassuring smile. He wondered if she knew the source of his discomfort or just that he was upset. It didn't matter to him really. He felt a smile tug at his lips. Alana obviously liked him best, so it was fine if she played host as well. He was a generous friend like that.


	24. 22) Interlude

**1991 March**

Quidditch season was in full swing, and Alana found herself dealing with overly enthusiastic Slytherins for the first time in her life.

"...And then he feinted left and caught the snitch!"

"Did you see the look on her face? She…"

"...Alana, are you listening?"

The girl's head snapped up from where she had been drifting off and beamed at Lucian Bole and his official wing-man, Peregrine Derrick. Dear Merlin, they were still talking.

"She caught the snitch," She replied half-heartedly. "Weren't you celebrating all last week because of it?" Her hand waved towards Lucian dismissively. Why she endured this torture, she had no idea.

"Obviously, but the look on Kate's face is one I want to be framed." Peregrine cut in.

"Ask Warren," She suggested. "Even if he's in Gryffindor, he would probably sell the picture for the right amount." She thought of the lethargic boy who had been roped into taking pictures of every match and putting them on the Gryffindor dorm board. He'd been trying to escape the job for the past year and would probably get a kick out of selling the pictures. Peregrine perked up at the suggestion and nudged Lucian with a smile. Both boys giggled like a pair of gossiping women before batting their eyelashes at Alana.

"I think we'll head over now."

"We'll need to catch him before someone else has the same idea" Both boys bid their farewells before dashing out of the Great Hall.

The young witch they had left behind stretched her limbs which had grown stiff from disuse over the course of the conversation. It was with no small relief that she exited the building and began the trek to exit the castle walls. Spring had just arrived at the castle, and the gardens were slowly regaining the life they had lost. The young girl relaxed her muscles as she padded through the fringes of the forest. Here and there, she could spy stone formations that were no doubt built for rituals when they were still practised. Lichen lined the ancient structures, and she allowed her fingertips to trace whichever ones she happened to pass. It was easy to forget how ancient Hogwarts was with the lack of arcane magics taught.

She was so utterly enraptured in the ruins that she almost missed the brown, leather bag leaning against one of the pillars. She picked up the pack and examined it curiously. Sure enough, there was a name carved into the underside of the leather. _Lobosca. _She ran a finger over the name and considered it carefully. She had no idea who it was and was rather reluctant to move the pack in case its owner would return for it. She tapped her chin thoughtfully until she heard the sound of rustling leaves. A white-haired witch stumbled out of the forest and into the clearing she stood in. Blue eyes flickered to her figure and then to the pack in her arms. Alana quirked an eyebrow before holding the bag out for the girl.

"Thanks," The witch fumbled. She reached for the bag with one hand while the other nervously clutched the moon pendant hanging around her neck. "I didn't think anyone else came around here. I'm Chiara by the way." The girl offered an innocent smile that softened her already gentle features further. Alana offered her own smile and shook the girl's offered hand. Chiara held the bag to her chest and dipped her head in thanks a second time.

"Alana. It's nice to meet you, Chiara."

"You as well. Um… I have to go, but I guess I'll see you around then. Bye." The girl slung her bag over her shoulder awkwardly as she rushed towards the castle. Alana followed the girl with her gaze before returning to her walk. It was some days later that she learnt the girl was a seventh year Hufflepuff.

**1991 April**

Alana twisted her growing hair into a bun before heading down to the common room. Leoen sat in his usual spot with a chessboard set before him. After a heated game, both parted to follow their usual morning routine. Alana took to the corridors with the intention of slipping a charms book out of the library before the day began. The stone hallways were as cold as they were silent with the faint hum of magic emanating from them. She hummed softly under her breath as she took to the rotating stairs. A few of the portraits greeted her as she made her journey. Magical portraits were curious things. They were mental imprints of magicals taken by the painter. She had done some research on magical painters as part of a charms assignment, and the process was absolutely fascinating. The level of control and skill required to animate the most simple of paintings was mind-blowing, yet Hogwarts hung hundreds on its walls. Most were second-rate donations by old families, but a few were of high enough quality to be considered a flaunting of wealth to donate. The Renaissance had seen hundreds of them donated in what had become known as the Paint Wars.

"What in Merlin's name happened to you!" The shout and sound of falling books shattered Alana's peaceful reverie, and she glanced, annoyed in the direction it had come from.

"I tripped."

"On air?!"

The young witch found the perpetrators in the library. A fair, pink-haired witch sat on the ground rubbing circles on her arm. Her facial expression was one of annoyance and pain as she glared at the witch across from her. Alana gave the two seventh years a quick assessment as she entered the room. Chiara Lobosca turned her head away from her clumsy friend and spied Alana's smaller form.

"Oh! Good morning, Alana." She greeted the younger witch. The pale pinkette glanced at the other occupant of the room questioningly while Alana gave Chiara small, polite wave.

"Who's that?" The other seventh year directed suspicious eyes to the honey-eyed witch.

"She's a third-year that I know. Her name's Alana," Chiara introduced the girl proudly. "Alana, this is Nymphadora Tonks."

"Call me Nymphadora, and I'll kick you off the astronomy tower. It's Tonks." Alana's mouth twitched at the threat as a laugh bubbled in her throat.

"I'll keep that in mind, Tonks. It's nice to see you again, Chiara." Alana gave a quick smile and readied an excuse to leave the two. She was still gathering her thoughts when she noticed a particular book lying on the floor. She knelt to pick up the title.

"Where one of you using this?" She asked. It was the exact book she was looking for.

"I was returning it actually," Tonks wrinkled her nose. "It's a really boring read. Just so you know. Jackson Revel's edition is way more interesting."

Alana graced the girl with a genuine smile having read the book she spoke of already. It focused more on practical wand work than theory which was why she had wanted another book to reference. There were a few more books scattered across the floor, and she gingerly picked up a few. Catching on, Chiara helped grab the rest while Tonks attempted to right herself.

"Did you really trip on air?" Alana had to ask as she held the pile to the girl. Tonks gave her a traumatised stare.

"I swear, there's a diety up there laughing his arse off every time I trip. The air is conspiring against me," She whispered with a shiver. Alana didn't bother hiding her amusement.

"I suppose it's a good thing your friend is so interested in healing," She commented. She nodded towards the stack of healing books perched precariously on a table behind Chiara and said witch blushed heavily.

"I want to become a healer," She explained. Her fingers were wrapped around her moonstone pendant out of habit.

"Do you know any good starter books on healing? I'm a bit prone to injury myself," Alana asked innocently. Prone was hardly the right word when injury was part of her job description. Chiara lit up with delight, and she couldn't help but think the witch had the appearance of a china doll when she wasn't nervous. She knew several rogues who would die to have such a cute nurse working on them. She cackled at the mental image.


	25. 23) Tender Loving Care

**1991 June**

There was something about Care of Magical Creatures that Alana felt tickled her fancy. Perhaps it was the flame-throwing blast-ended skrewts. Maybe it was the mocking, teeth-baring merpeople or even the vicious, grinning redcaps. She couldn't quite put her finger on the cause of her jubilance at seeing professor Silvanus Kettleburn. The reckless man had currently amassed at total fifty-four periods of probation whilst losing several limbs in the process. There was even a betting pool amongst the older years on how long it would be until he was bestowed his next probation period. He was a stout man with white hair sticking out in random directions and a curled moustache of such grandeur that it would have easily given Dumbledore's beard a run for its money. His left hand had been replaced by a wooden claw and a bandage wrapped around his left eye. Rumour said that he had lost the former to a hungry occupant of the Romanian dragon sanctuary (which wasn't actually located in Romania but Hungary instead).

"All right class! Today we will be looking at fire salamanders!" Professor Kettleburn had a delighted smile on his face as he giggled like a schoolgirl. He proceeded to herd the group of third and second year Ravenclaws and Gryffindors to a stack of crates on the outskirts of the forbidden forest. The class had been made conjoint at the man's request. Naturally, most were interested in what he expected the large group to do. Gryffindors and Ravenclaws were already an exciting mixture of curiosity and recklessness. Both of which were already overly abundant in the professor himself.

"Salamanders are a group of amphibians with slender bodies, blunt snouts and short limbs. They look like lizards, and you will find tails on both larvae and adults of the species." The man bounced on the balls of his feet excitedly causing many to wonder if he had skipped his medication that morning. "They hibernate in winter in decaying logs with cold bodies and skin that can easily extinguish any fire. In the 1880s the species was hunted for their hides when there was an increase in the cost of dragonhide. The reason for this? Although they are small, they breed very, very quickly."

Alana marvelled at the man's extensive knowledge on the most obscure of creatures. He rarely opened his mouth to speak about anything but his precious animals. The passion that rolled off him in waves was admirable, to say the least. If only he weren't so… She watched as he continued to prance about the crates with waving arms as though he were part of some strange occult summoning ritual. She saw Charlotte shudder as he passed by a fraction too close.

"Thump!" The sound of the professor's dragon-hide boots hitting the top of the crate was followed by scuttling that would have made the brawniest of wizards' skin crawl. Kettleburn leaned over the charmed wooden boxes and stroked them affectionately like an old woman stroking her pet cat. The gentleness on his features was more ominous than a black cat walking under a ladder indoors with an open umbrella in its mouth. Terrifying.

Leoen leaned over to nudge Alana and whispered, "He's finally lost it."

The girl glanced at him with ill-concealed amusement. "Did he ever have it, to begin with?"

There was a click as the crate was opened with a wave of Kettleburn's wand. About a thousand writhing lizards were revealed to the apprehensive students. A few younger children gave squeals of disgust, and one fainted at first sight. The salamanders were small things about the size of a human hand with orange and red colouring in various patterns. Their black, beady eyes glanced at the group with unnatural intelligence before they scattered. The professor merely cackled in delight before opening a dozen more crates and instructing the class to catch them. He briefly mentioned having warded the area beforehand so they wouldn't go too far.

"Ahhhh!" A blond Ravenclaw screamed as he ran around the area with a number of salamanders clinging to his robes. His screams ended abruptly as he ran straight into a rather robust tree. A trio of Gryffindors was attempting to cast spells at the quick amphibians, but they avoided the hexes easily and jumped onto one of the girls before lighting up in flames.

"Oops. Did I forget to mention they are flammable?" The professor smiled angelically and twirled on his left foot atop a crate. He had already cast a physical shielding spell around him much like Charlotte and Lola who were covering each other's blind spots and trying different methods of incapacitating the pests. Alana had swiftly scaled an oak tree and was watching the scene with a pair of red-headed twins.

"How do."

"You do,"

"Miss Raven?"

She blinked at the boys who appeared to be twins. Each had finished the sentence of the other with a perverse sort of glee glittering in their brown eyes. The witch's eyes turned suspicious of their own accord. Both wore the Gryffindor ties and were perched on the branch with identical, Cheshire grins. She could almost see the swishing tail and devil horns missing from the picture.

"Quite fine," She replied and shifted her weight to jump if need be.

"That's great," One of them swung an arm over her shoulder and pressed far too close to her person.

"Fantastic even," The second followed up quickly.

The sensation of something wet being pressed against her neck was all she needed to leap off the branch. The twins cackled at her swift exit like a pair of dying hyenas. She tossed a quick hex behind her back for good measure and heard two yelps as they fell off their seats. She crossed the field quickly with one hand rubbing her neck to feel whatever substance they'd put there. Her fingers came back sticky with a blue, viscous liquid that she sniffed sceptically. It smelt of maggots. A particularly unpleasant memory reared its ugly head in the back of her mind before she hacked it back with an imaginary 5-foot chainsaw.

A few salamanders scurried behind her and flung their bodies at her cloak only to hit an invisible barrier. The physical shielding spell was one of the few spells she had thoroughly mastered casting with only intent and a wand. Most spells she got stuck at the second stage of casting. The first stage needed intention, wand movement and incantation, the latter needed only intent, and wand movement, the third required intent with a wand and the fourth required only intent regardless of a wand's presence. A few fields of magic were restricted to certain stages like runes which were intrinsically the third stage upwards. But all of this was inconsequential for Alana at the moment as her amphibian following was increasing drastically with each step she took. Along with this came a creeping suspicion that the phenomenon was very much unnatural. She quickened her pace as a panicking Gryffindor with a similar crowd of admirers attacked the ward ferociously. It would have been amusing were she not running to avoid the flying, flaming bodies of salamanders.

The wards shuddered, and she blinked in surprise as they crashed down. Physical barriers usually had a more severe backlash on the caster when they failed, and she felt an inkling of pity for the professor. The memory of having Aquarius destroyed was still fresh in her mind, and the experience was very similar. The pity died a quick death as her following suddenly quadrupled. Abandoning the class, she crossed the ward line and ran for her life.

"Professor Kettleburn! Your salamanders have gone insane!" The shout would likely be lost in the madness, but she doubted the disoriented man could have helped her predicament in any case. She now had at least half the lizards scurrying after her and was forced to jog to keep the miscreants off her clothes. Wherever she ran, a thousand lizards would follow in a black and orange cloud of death and flailing limbs. Not even the twisty halls of Hogwarts halted them, and the rotating staircases only had them jumping after her more energetically.

One hour later...

"Huff… Huff… No more… Damn creatures…" Alana complained as she slid down another bannister. She had never been so physically drained in her life. She would never live down the humiliation of being outdone by amphibians. Whatever those troublesome twins had stuck on her neck had been wiped off, but the smell still clung to her clothes. As luck would have it, the cleaning spell wouldn't get it out, and she had no inclination to run naked through the halls. She vaulted the staircase and lamented not being able to use Pisces. Unfortunately, her fitness levels were already unnaturally high for a witch, and suspicious teachers were not something she needed. She glared at the salamanders hatefully.

"Know this! Should you vanquish my spirit, the one to transmigrate into my body shall seek vengeance on my behalf. Ha! All wrongs against me shall be paid back tenfold! Run while you still have your legs!"

The bystanders to the strange phenomenon of the black-haired, gold-eyed witch crazily invoking the heavens marvelled at the conviction behind the words although their meaning was incomprehensible.

Suddenly, there was a giant slosh as a bucket of chicken blood was dumped from the ceiling. Alana halted abruptly, and the entire corridor seemed to freeze over with dark premonition. Her full, frightening eyes darted to the silent poltergeist floating above the doorway with an incriminating bucket in his hands. She smiled. The ghost, Peeves, shrieked in a way which would make most doubt his gender and fled the scene of a blood-soaked witch. The lizards all sat with their heads tilted quizzically at the loss of the scent they had been tracking. Alana laughed eerily and turned to her small foes. Her entire body was soaked with blood, and the red liquid dripped from her hair, but she seemed to not notice. The few students who witnessed the crazed glint in her eyes ran unashamedly back to their dorms in fear.

"Turnabout is fair play, my dears." She grinned a sickeningly sweet smile as she lifted her wand arm.

What followed was a massacre so graphic and diabolical that even the seventh years shiver when it is remembered. Water and ice pierced each lizard with inhuman precision bathing the corridor in bloodied ice. Those that were not killed were swiftly encased in ice cages with a theatrical aguamenti and glacius spell. Alana practically danced through the carnage with a grace that would have enraptured any witness of the scene were it not for the blood. Though, there were odd students who found the blood to add to the chaotic beauty. She was having such a great time that she barely noticed the spectating Leoen who looked both appalled at the creativity of his friend and mildly impressed. The Slytherins were admittedly the least disturbed of the lot when the professor led his class to the scene. Not his wisest decision, but he was happy to find out that not all of his pets had met a brutal end. When the last had perished in battle, Alana finally lowered her wand with one final mutter and a flick to her uniform. The blood seeped out of the fabric slowly, and she was grateful it was not magical, or the spell would have had little effect.

"Well!" She clapped her hands merrily and resolved to change her clothes regardless of their clean appearance. "That was fun!"

With that, she turned and made her way back to the dorms with a skip in her step. She had a pair of twins to castrate. Such an industrious person was she. Elsewhere, two second-year students were regaled with the story of a blood-soaked witch wreaking havoc in the school. Many claimed it was a relative of the bloody baron. The two felt a shiver make its way down their spines for no apparent reason. Fred Weasley cast his brother a look only to find that George had already trained his curious orbs on him. Odd. Very odd indeed.


	26. 24) A Swift Return

**1991 June**

There was something to be said about the sanity of Hogwarts professors when they realised the summer holidays were approaching. The sick glee that coloured their faces would have been amusing had they not been holding stacks of homework in their hands. Alana could have sworn that the staff had all strategically timed their handouts so that they occurred at the same time. That time being straight after O.W.L.s - otherwise known as the Ordinary Wizarding Levels for those less acronymically inclined. The tests themselves were nothing worth mentioning really. Everyone felt they had at the very least passed the theory assessment, and it was a universally acknowledged fact that the O.W.L. practicals weren't all that difficult. N.E.W.T.s, on the other hand, were something else entirely.

Alana sighed from her perch on a stone window sill whilst contemplating the mysteries of the red tomato she held in her hands. To plant or not to plant, that was the question. Professor Sprout was insistent that the students grow their own vegetable plant over the holidays. The only problem was… she was rather hungry. She was experiencing what most would call a first world problem. The reason for her hunger? She was annoyed, and when she was annoyed, she became hungry. She glanced at the source of her annoyance. Never before had she experienced such profound hatred for a being in all her life. It was a small creature with tennis balls for eyes and mottled green skin. It's bulging throat collapsed in on itself with a shudder before exploding outwards in a mockery of an old man's dying breath. She absolutely rejected its presence beside her and all but incinerated the lump of shifting flesh with her glare. Alana truly, intimately and absolutely loathed toads.

"Ribbit…"

"Shut up, Steve."

"What did he ever do to you," Lucian Bole protectively held the object of Alana's ire close to his chest. A frown marred his strangely feminine features, and the witch narrowed her eyes.

"It is taking up valuable breathing air," She sniffed righteously. Steve ribbeted tauntingly from his owner's lap and visibly flinched as Alana bared her teeth in a menacing smile. "Did you know frog legs are a delicacy in France, Lucian?" The boy brushed off the suggestion of her sinister purr with the grace of a true aristocrat and wisely set his pet aside.

"One wonders why you took Care of Magical Creatures when you hate animals," he commented while fixing his posture. It was somewhat amusing to see the Slytherin check himself over as though a single hair out of place could destroy his family name. Then again, that could very well be true.

"I hate toads, I dislike household pets, but I have an extreme fondness for the obscure, obscene and potentially life-threatening. Magic should be studied first and foremost to protect oneself. Unfortunately, there are a number of creatures I would very much like to never encounter in this lifetime but will likely have the displeasure to considering my luck."

Lucian gave her a look at her dismissal of the most obvious perk of the subject. "The professor is funny as well."

"Obviously." She stated. Ding!

**_Notification: Evolution!_**

_Healing System: Pisces III has evolved to Pisces IV! level 0 Magic focus increased x2 Dexterity increased x2 Precision increased x2 Cost of summoning decreased. New form processing…_

Alana didn't even bother to glance at the notification screen having already deduced that new skills were only acquired after an evolution to level V. Pisces was a lot easier to level at Hogwarts but still noticeably more complicated, and she hoped the summon's evolution skill would make it worth the trouble. She bid her farewell to Lucian before making her way back to the Ravenclaw Dormitory. She had some potions essays to write if she wanted to get the chance to rope Leoen into helping her practice her skills with a sword. Not that it would take much convincing.

**_Creation: Capricorn V_**

_Species: Library System_

_Level: 26_

_Capable of mind defence, complex thought and processing 18600 words per hour. New Skill: Legilimency (Active)_

**_Creation: Aquarius IV_**

_Species: Inventory System_

_Level: 36_

_Capable of storing 34 objects. Summoning cost decrease tripled._

**_Creation: Pisces IV_**

_Species: Healing System_

_Level: 0_

_Magic focus increased x2 Dexterity increased x2 Precision increased x2 Cost of summoning decreased._

**1991 July**

Hogwarts wrapped up the year with its usual final feast. The event was marked by Slytherin winning the house cup yet again. Lucian was preening like a peacock the entire night while Headmaster Dumbledore forced a somewhat pained smile out of his wrinkled features. The other houses had a range of responses from annoyed scowls and respectful nods to determined glares. Alana found the entire situation humorous, even more so when two Weasley twins started hiccupping madly after having a sip of pumpkin juice. She felt rather juvenile retaliating with such a small prank, but Charlotte had scolded her for her initial idea to cover them in squid attractant and throw them in the Black lake. She was sure Evan (the giant squid) would have been most pleased with the meal. Such a shame. Nevertheless, it was with a satisfied smile that she returned to her London home, having successfully endured a year of magical education.

"Marcus… What are you doing?" Alana stood awkwardly in the doorway under the midday sun having slept in after the previous night's long train ride. The sight of Marcus stroking the piano affectionately had her rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Marcus glanced up at the child with an affronted expression.

"Can't you see we're having a moment!" He snapped and made a shooing motion in her direction. "Begone from my sight, foul peasant!" Alana sweat-dropped and decided not to question the sanity of her house-mate. If she did, she would probably have a mid-life crisis.

"Way down to Hadestown, way down under the ground," Alana hummed as she stole her way into Diagon Alley. The streets were obnoxiously bright in comparison to Knockturn and far more lively. There were vendors enthusiastically promoting their wares and customers entering and exiting to the tinkling of doors left and right. The atmosphere was considerably more energetic than usual as the summer holidays had just begun and many were eager to visit Britain's busiest shopping district. Dressed in a forest green jerkin and black, cotton pants, she had reluctantly tucked her cloak into the leather pack that hung from her shoulder. Her path led her to the towering doors of an ivory fortress. Above the doorway, large metal letters glinted in the sunlight reading 'Gringotts' for all those ignorant enough to not already know the building's name.

Goblin guards stood sentinel on either side of the open entry point. The bank was the closest most goblins would ever get to engaging with wand-users. The Ministry of Magic had 'graciously' granted the Goblins full, independent control over the bank and its lands in 1865. It was a peace offering after the catastrophe that was the Goblin Wars. Though, she doubted the Goblins held any illusion that the gift was not a request for the Wizarding and Goblin governments and worlds to split. Isolating their enemies as well as their possible allies until they needed to exploit them seemed to be a speciality of the Ministry of Magic. The Goblins were better off without wizards if she was honest. Alana allowed a cruel smirk to grace her features as she entered the building. Wizards and witches were temperamental but Goblins, Goblins were something she could work with.

"Good afternoon, Gavin. I've come to make a deposit into my account and purchase a few Alvarian ward stones should Gringotts currently be selling." Alana rocked up to the vaguely recognisable Goblin who scowled at her with a sharp-toothed mouth. He was a prickly fellow, but most Goblins were. His bright eyes snapped at her form with the permanent glare he seemed to have been blessed with.

"You're late, Miss Vincent." Alana quirked her lips in amusement as the goblin in the next counter over gave Gambrooke Gavin a look that screamed _'are you insane, why the hell are you socialising with this wastrel!'_ Gavin didn't even grace his coworker with a response and continued to glare at the witch before him expectantly. She had not missed her monthly deposit in her entire tenure as a criminal, so his reaction was justified. Although, it was strange as the Goblins rarely expressed any curiosity towards their clientele except when relieving them of their money. Gavin was not her account manager, and thus, he wouldn't have heard of the news of her change in circumstances.

"Unfortunately, I've been roped into the system. Hogwarts will likely continue to interrupt my work. I intend to make bulk deposits in my breaks instead. I would have informed you during Yule break, but I assume you were on leave as I couldn't find you." Alana could practically feel Gavin's coworker glaring holes into her skull. She considered reigning in her casual attitude but thought it a waste of energy. Gavin was one of the few Goblins who had taken such an honest approach to the young witch, and she was reluctant to discourage him in any way. It was nice to have a civil exchange without rude gestures being made at her. She wondered how the wizarding world would feel if they knew the frequent tapping of sharp Goblin fingernails on their desks was actually a type of morse code for the beings. They sent off small waves of magic when they tapped, a skill they also used to appraise materials.

It was very faint, but Pisces could pick up on it easily enough. Gavin had looked mildly concerned when she'd asked about it. As fate would have it, Goblins were incapable of lying, and he was straightforward enough to give her small figure an answer at the time. She hadn't been able to stop the laugh that left her lips at the time. Goblins were notoriously cunning, but she hadn't anticipated them to be insulting their clientele with morse code.

"Gimbrooke, mind your tongue." Goblin 'mood-breaker' finally broke and hissed at his colleague. What followed was a string of syllables in the Goblin-tongue from Gavin's mouth. The other's rough skin turned a concerning red then green before his jaw clamped shut. Alana appreciated the rare display of disharmony between two members of the Goblin race.

"I'll notify your account manager," Gavin gave Alana a curt nod before leaping off his stand. She glanced at the shaken Goblin Gavin had left behind. Visually, he looked unaffected, but she had learnt Goblin's expressed themselves mostly through eye movements, and the male had yet to bring his gaze up from the stone floor. She almost felt pity. Almost. She was a firm believer that one shouldn't dish out what they couldn't take in or start what they couldn't finish.

Sorting out her accounts was a tedious affair consisting of excessive amounts of paperwork and piles of contracts. Naturally, the consultation fees were also ridiculous. It was unfortunate that her manager was efficient, or she would have been able to complain. Alas, Gazeon Gavin was as skilled as his brother was sociable (relatively at least). It didn't make the hourly rate any less painful to pay. The ecstatic, sharp-toothed grin of Gazeon did not make her feel any better. Alana was ready to get a nights sleep or better yet, a stiff drink, by the time they were done.

She practically dragged herself to Harley's. It was not, perhaps, the wisest decision on her part but her mind was on other things. Namely, the sweet ambrosia the barmaid Willow would have waiting for her. She would deny any accusations of her drooling as she tossed a cloak over her figure. She passed a gaggle of hags on her way down and felt her eyes lighten in the nighttime shadows of the Alley. Whatever sentiment she held for the place seemed enough to rejuvenate a bit of her energy. There was a noticeable shift in persona; the further she progressed. One couldn't afford to be caught unawares in these parts.

The sounds of a brawl reached her ears as she reached the door to Harley's. She idly considered using the warding stones she'd purchased to set up a silencing ward for the building. A frown tugged at her features, but it was masked by Sparrow's usual mask. Pushing the door open gently, she took a few steps inside to examine the room. A table was in shambles a few feet away from the entrance, and a great many patrons had twisted their heads to view the newcomer. Those with common sense parted from the circle of spectators watching two forms attempting to mutilate each other on the floor. The silence was the most noticeable effect of her entrance, and it made the sound of growls and fists all the more noticeable.

Alana cast the dishevelled form of one Raymond an unamused look and dislodged the obviously drunk man from the male beneath him. She was thankfully strong enough to accomplish the feat with a single boot. A few of the species surrounding her shuddered at the display of strength from such a small figure. Most were of other magical species and had keen enough senses to realise that the girl was a witch. It was unnatural to have that level of physical strength along with magical skills when the later usually resulted in the deterioration of the former. The fear that accompanied that knowledge was slightly annoying, but she had a reputation to keep.

"Raymond… I hope you intend to pay for the furniture you broke," Alana measured her words. The man was attempting to stand, though clearly still tipsy.

"Is' nothin' Sparro'" Raymond slurred with a broad smile.

"Mendaxi, my dear friend. I do not take kindly to lies." The Latin words seemed to confuse the man further.

"Mendacium? Sparro' ya know I don't deal in those."

A groan sounded beneath the man, and Alana finally glanced at the body of the man Raymond had apparently assaulted. On the floor with a bleeding nose was a familiar face that she was not in the least bit pleased to see. Alana bit her lip at the intoxicated teen. Why was it that Jake Matthews turned up in the most inconvenient of places?

_Latin terms_

_Mendacium - Lies, falsehood_

_Mendax - liar_


	27. 25) Wolfsbane

The boy dragged his tanned hand up to wipe away the blood that dripped from his nose. Alana watched the action stiffly, unsure what to make of the situation. Jake hissed in pain when his fingers brushed his nose. Definitely broken then. He opted out of the hopeless task of cleaning his face and glared at the audience surrounding him. A sudden flash was all the warning he got before a spell hit him straight between his eyes. He reeled backwards as the skin on his face burned and raised an arm defensively.

Alana crouched beside the prone form of Raymond once the healing spell, episkey, had left her wand. The solidly built man accepted the offered hand without much floundering and was rather ungracefully hauled to his feet. A grunt of effort was all Alana offered to indicate her struggle to move the werewolf. Raymond tossed his dark locks aside and peered at her with unnervingly bright eyes.

"Sparrow…" The name was spoken reverently, and Alana had the profound urge to slap the man on the back of his head. When had this fellow ever shown such respect to her? Only when he was drunk apparently! The damned Scot was easy-going and only showed such a stern expression when on a job. Raymond leaned down to wrap an arm around the witch's waist and bury his nose into her neck. He paid absolutely no attention to the wand she was pointing at his jugular. 'It would be so easy. Just one spell.' Alana dug her wand into his neck before sighing. The man's chest was rumbling in a content purr that vaguely reminded her of a muggle massage chair. It was utterly disgusting, but she could hardly, in good conscience, murder the man for what was for all appearances a hug.

"Missed you, pup…" He mumbled into her neck. The warm breath made her squirm. Whatever sense of personal boundaries Raymond had previously held had vanished with his alcohol. The clinginess sent a shiver down her spine. It brought back vivid flashbacks of being squeezed to the abundant chest of one Lilith Bathery.

"Missed me? So much that you've been picking fights with green wizards?" Alana regained her bearings enough to muster a frigid tone. She tugged a strand of his hair as punishment, causing the man to whine.

"He started it," He retorted petulantly. Dear Merlin, was that a pout? Alana controlled the urge to toss the large male to the ground. She wondered if someone had slipped something extra into his drink. He could usually handle more than the nine smashed glasses she saw on the floor.

"Child, what brings you to Harley's?" Alana turned to question Jake's crumpled form. Her fingers were twitching to help him out of instinct, but he was a stranger to her currently. His cloak had been ripped off his shoulders during the brawl, and he gripped it tightly in his hand. Tired but determined dark brown eyes were glued to Raymond who looked ready to turn Sparrow into a plushie for his entertainment. The witch eyed the boy warily, more than aware of her responsibility for dealing with him now that she had intervened. Raymond was hardly in a fit state, and she doubted any of the other patrons would be daring enough to step in now that Raymond had declared her identity. Most were aware of Sparrow's skill set. It was a blessing he hadn't said her real name in his state.

"I have personal business with him," Jake Matthews growled with clenched fists. His eyes were predatory, enough so that she was glad to be positioned between the two. Raymond was lucid enough not to restrict her limbs, or she would have already removed his family jewels.

"Personal? Perhaps, it would be wiser to take this to the backroom then? Instead of wrecking my front lawn?" Alana twisted enough to indicate the boy should follow. Raymond trailed behind her like an unwanted third limb as she fished a few galleons out for Willow.

"Put the cost on my tab will you, Willow. I'll have my usual in room three." The tavern fell back into its usual atmosphere as if the incident had never occurred. That was what she loved about the place. No one asked any questions unless they were willing to die for the answers.

…

Raymond knocked back a potion and tossed the vial back to Alana. He watched as it vanished under the folds of her cloak and huffed, reluctantly impressed by the strength of the concoction. He could already feel his head clearing. It was disappointing as he would have preferably retained a bit of intoxication for dealing with this particular brat. The boy who had so rudely interrupted his drinking time took a seat at the wooden table in the centre of the room. The mercenary let his eyes meet the boys own and frowned as they weren't averted. The kid was an idiot for thinking he would get away with such disrespect in front of him. His fist slammed down on the table, causing the boy to jump. Alana could not help but admire the array of scars adorning the man's arms as he took a seat. They were displayed proudly with the absence of his signature cloak.

"Sparrow," Raymond gave the girl a glance, and she moved to take a seat. His eyes were a furious shade of amber and tracked her movements with the approving glint of a proud general. It didn't go unnoticed by either occupant of the room, but Alana was far too used to the man's form of camaraderie to verbalise an opinion. She merely clucked her tongue in an annoyed manner. She would not forget his previous behaviour any time soon.

"Jake was it? You are looking to the wrong man for answers," Raymond directed the firmly spoken words to the only other male in the room. Jake's posture visibly changed as he strangled the table edge with both hands.

"I heard you're able to control yourself on the full moon so you must know a proper supplier for wolfsbane!" He was practically shaking with anger and desperation as he confronted the werewolf.

"I told you already that I don't have a supplier."

"Then where do you get the ingredients to make it!"

"I don't make it myself either!"

"Now you're just lying to save your own ass!"

Alana's eyes flicked back and forth between the two following the verbal tennis match. Her head was spinning by the time Jake's hand reached across the table. She stretched over to grip his forearm before the punch landed and they got physical. She knew for a fact that Raymond didn't take wolfsbane already. They had worked the full moon together before, and he'd managed to hold on to his human form without it by some mysterious feat of magic.

"I won't tolerate any damage to this establishment just because the truth doesn't suit your needs," She warned. Her words hit their mark, and the boy sank back into his seat. She was about to relax when Raymond whipped out his gun and pointed it at the boy's forehead.

"Make a damn move with that wand, and I'll blow your brains out if she doesn't slit your throat first." Raymond's growl echoed in the room. Alana hadn't noticed Jake move for his wand at the angle she sat. The wolf was obviously upset, and she tentatively placed a placating hand on his arm.

"He's just a child, amicus. There is no need to draw blood."

Raymond's eyes carved into her argument like a machete. 'Are you not also a child?' His eyes said. She coughed awkwardly. She felt pity for the world at having raised the standard intelligence bar for adolescents. Regardless of her arguments faults, Raymond seemed to find it encouragement enough to lower his gun though it stayed in his grip.

"You don't need any potions, just enough magic."

Alana gave her companion a considering look. She was surprised he even bothered to answer the boy, though the answer itself was vague. Enough magic could be interpreted in a variety of ways. Enough skill, strength, quantity, quality? Was it mental or physical magic that he referred to? Jake was grasping at the meaning as well but having as much luck as Alana. Raymond looked extremely reluctant to speak on the subject. Alana was about to accept he wouldn't elaborate when he opened his mouth again.

"An animagus form would do the trick." His eyes had returned to their original darkness from bright amber, and he turned to the witch beside him with an almost reluctant expression. She gave him a confused glance, but it was hidden by her mask.

"What if they don't have magic?" Jake's question was a near whisper and revealed far too much of his circumstances. Raymond shrugged helplessly. It was none of his concern. He pulled Sparrow closer to him to ease the discomfort he felt with her still so close to the boy.

"I could make the potion for you if you have the instructions." Alana mentally cursed as soon as the words left her lips. She felt Raymond stiffen by her side and new the man was questioning her decision. She was questioning her sanity more than the decision at that moment. Jake's head had already snapped to the cloaked figure. He had dismissed her presence as an annoyance initially, but now he was fixated. He had gathered she was female, but while her height indicated youth, her demeanour had been anything but that of a child's.

"You are a potion's master?" He supposed she could have taken a potion to make herself younger.

"You should do your research before stepping into Knockturn Alley, boy. She is a jack of trades in our business. My Sparrow," He grinned at the possessiveness lining his words. He just knew it would rile her up. Sure enough, she was fisting his shirt but a second later and her face was inches away from his alongside a wand.

"Yours? I didn't know that I belonged to you, dear Raymond." She threatened him to take the words back, but Raymond was hardly the type to do that.

"Ours," He laughed, thus breaking the tension between them. "You are our Sparrow, are you not?"

She hummed at the slightly more agreeable title. She was willing to acknowledge that she was as much a permanent fixture of the British underground as Willow was of Harley's. The thought was oddly comforting. She belonged here. Her thoughts turned to Jake, who seemed to be deep in thought if the expression on his face was any indication. She wondered who he was so desperate to get the wolfsbane for. There was, of course, a sure way to check but she had invaded his mind before, and she was not so keen to re-experience his tumultuous waves of thought. There was also the fact that Raymond would likely notice and be concerned. Werewolves were impervious to the mind arts, much like vampires, but they were also sensitive to its attempted use and tended to dislike the practitioners of it much more as a result.

"I have the instructions. What's your price?" He searched for her eyes within the shadows of her cowl but found nothing. Alana considered her childhood friend with careful eyes. The potion formula for wolfsbane was hardly easy to come by. In fact, it had never been formally published outside of the potions guild by its creator. It wasn't exactly immediately valuable as very few werewolves in Britain were affluent enough to afford it. What truly interested her was the identity of the creator of the potion. She had, of course, done her research when she had learnt Jake had snuck into the restricted section for a potions book. His desperation had piqued her interest and kindled concern. Wolfsbane was the creation of Severus Tobias Snape. It was the potion that gained him entry into the guild as the youngest ever potions master.

"The formula," She replied whilst tilting her head. "And you will work for me during your school holidays under a non-negotiable contract of confidence. Nothing illegal I assure you," She added. She was reluctant to stain the boy's hands with her deeds. Raymond raised an eyebrow questioningly at the generous offer.

"I would also like to know for whom I am making this potion. They will likely need the support of a pack if they don't want to experience any of the depressive side effects of the potion." There was the catch both men were waiting for. Werewolves were required to register by the ministry, and the consequences of not doing so were hardly gentle. Assuming the one he was helping was unregistered, he'd essentially be putting his own welfare and theirs in her hands. Alana waited for an answer while Raymond observed at the entire situation quietly.

"My father, Christian Matthews."

The answer solidified her resolve. It was with absolute certainty in her decision that Alana wrote up a binding contract. She had her answers now. She could finally repay the two Matthews' for all that they had done for her as a child. She signed in blood and passed the quill to the boy beside her and then Raymond who would act as the witness. She would decide what to do with the boy after she completed the first batch of the potion. It would be rather convenient if he was any good at paperwork.

Jake left shortly after signing with the promise of a future visit to sort out a suitable wolf pack during the holidays. Alana finally focused her attention on Raymond who had yet to move from his seat. The nonverbal request for conversation had her returning to her spot expectantly.

"You know him." Raymond was watching her carefully with amber eyes again. The young witch reclined carefully at his words. She shouldn't have been surprised he would draw such conclusions, but it still stirred panic in her gut.

"I do," She replied slowly.

"Then you'll know to keep him far away if you want him kept alive." Raymond stroked the gun that had remained in his grasp. Alana swallowed thickly at the threat. Her entire body was tensed as he rotated the weapon in his hands.

"You know I'd rather not have to do anything, Sparrow. We are friends, after all." Alana laughed weakly at the werewolf. She had annoyed him tonight. First by stepping in on his fight and then by expressing such closeness to the boy. So many mistakes in so little time. It was no wonder that he was considering taking her friend out. Jake was a weakness that he would cut down if he needed to and if it hurt her, he would cut her down too. Britain could not afford a weak link. His eyes were blazing amber as he looked at her. He was waiting for a reply.

"There's nothing to worry about. You know that I hate loose ends, Raymond." Sparrow smiled with faux calmness as she tugged her hood down. The black hair that tumbled out framed her smiling eyes. "I am simply putting a leash on my past." His eyes were daggers with curiosity slowly wrapping around the corners of his irises.

"You know just what to say, Sparrow." He inhaled with a bright smile. She hadn't lied. Raymond knew she hadn't. He would let her keep her pet for now. It wasn't like his aim would falter if he left it for a month.

Alana gave the werewolf a relieved look as he left the room. Raymond was one of the worst types of people in the world. He was the type that fooled you into thinking that they were normal, that they were family and that they would never harm you. He was one of the rare people who could mean it when they said that they cared for you and then put a bullet in you the next day. Was it wrong that she still enjoyed his company? Even when he threatened those she held close? Perhaps, that was what she liked about him. He reminded her when she was letting someone close enough to hurt her.


	28. 26) The Pack

**1991 August**

Alana could barely believe what she was about to do. Perhaps, Raymond was right, and she was truly losing it. Never before had she considered asking such a large favour of another. The young witch steeled herself as she slipped on her gear. First, her dragon hide boots and vest followed by her arm guards and a wand holster. Aquarius was squeezed into a side pack before she left her London home as a shadow in the night. She moved swift and silent across the landscape. It was times like this that she was grateful for the face mask which prevented her from swallowing insects mid-stride.

She stopped when she reached the meeting point and casually dropped down beside Lilith Bathery from a three-story building. The well-dressed woman gave the girl a judgemental look at her method of travel before scrutinising her clothing.

"You look like a murderer," She commented in a matter-of-fact tone.

"I am a murderer," Alana deadpanned.

"I refused to be seen with you if you're dressed like this." Lilith turned her nose up, and Alana hissed. The blonde always got uppity when it came to her dress code.

"Then what, pray tell, do you expect me to wear?" Lilith's eyes gleamed with the spirit of Satan himself as she drew a small package out from her extended-bag. Every one of the younger witches' senses screamed to run away, but she was glued to the spot in horror.

The outfits design wasn't what terrified her. It was actually quite nice. Had it been in any other colour, she would have gladly accepted it. But. It. Was. Yellow. A whimper crawled out from her throat as the woman pressed the fabric to her chest.

"You can thank me after you change," Lilith smiled. She. Smiled. Alana was only half alive as she found a niche where she could throw up a few quick wards and change. The gothic hooded coat and skin-tight pants had her twisting a bit to put on. Unnervingly enough, all of the items fit snuggly on her. Either Lilith had scary size instincts, or she had measured the girl in her sleep. Alana shivered despite the warmth of the clearly spell-woven fabric. She paused just as she was about to lower the wards and took another glance at the clothing. A feral grin began to stretch across her features.

Two minutes later, Alana reappeared fully clothed in blood red and black attire and a blank expression. Lilith pouted.

"At least it isn't all black. Have you ever considered dying your hair?"

Alana didn't grace the question with an answer.

A port key and several minutes later, both women were walking through South Downs National Park in West Sussex. Alana's senses were on high alert as she accompanied the veela. She had heard stories about the place. Terrible stories that fueled the nightmares of many wizards and witches. Lilith was the personification of calmness as she poked through the foliage. Her natural grace made her seem ethereal in the moonlight. A howl went off in the distance and Alana tensed. Her reaction was a stark contrast to her attitude when facing the Apuseni coven. Back then, she hadn't been in the best frame of mind. A snap in the distance and she was ready to attack if necessary.

"George," Lilith greeted the newcomer with a large smile and open arms. Their embrace was cut short as she whispered in the taller man's ear.

"I'll take you," The male replied evenly before turning molten eyes to Alana. "The girl as well." He turned, and they followed. The forest quickly dispersed to reveal an old lake-side manor with a smattering of tents surrounding it. Alana could hear the sounds of laughter and conversation from the tent ground, but it was too far off to see anyone. The two entered the building and were escorted to a large game room. A pool table, dartboard, couches and bar took up the majority of space. About nine people in total lounged in the room, each with a glass in their hands. Their entrance didn't go unnoticed, especially when Lilith strutted up to the literal alpha male of the room and greeted him by running a finger rather suggestively down his bare chest.

"Good evening, Fenrir. So nice of you to have us," She purred. Alana almost vomited blood. Why couldn't she have sane colleagues?! Was it so much to ask?! Fenrir Greyback, the most renowned werewolf alpha of Britain, merely sent the veela an accommodating smile. His sharp teeth bared themselves, and his features shifted to frame them.

"You are always welcome, Lili. So long as you don't bring trouble," He warned with gold eyes glittering. The skin of his face was rough with worry lines above his brow. The werewolf's age could be seen in the long, greying hair that fell to his shoulders and his messy beard. He was by no means attractive but seemed to make up for it in charisma and magical aura. Alana remained rooted to her spot, praying that Lilith hadn't forgotten about her. It was both relieving and panic-inducing when Lilith gestured for her to come closer. Alana forced her limbs to move in their natural fashion and resisted the urge to whip out a dagger.

"Fenrir, may I introduce my dear friend Sparrow." Lilith wrapped her arm around Fenrir's shoulder, and Alana wondered how the man could stand to let such a dangerous woman so close to his vulnerable back. Fenrir was eyeing Alana up like a rare meat dish as he leaned forward. He inhaled sharply, and she was once again grateful for her earrings.

"What are you, child?" He asked with keen eyes. She narrowed her own and drew up her occlumency shields to quell the raging sea that was her emotions. Fenrir Greyback was known to hate wizards without creature ancestry, and for some reason, she doubted the rumours were exaggerated.

"It depends on what my employers want," She replied smoothly. Lilith grinned and let out a tinkling laugh. It was truly fortunate her allure didn't work on werewolves, or half the room would be drooling at the sound. Fenrir scoffed at the pretty reply, unamused. He motioned for her to come closer and she arched a brow as she complied. Gesturing a known assassin to come closer was generally inadvisable to those who cared for their health. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her down a bit. Their faces were about five centimetres apart when he held her still. She blinked. Perhaps, it was the occlumency speaking, but he had very pretty eyes. They were chips of silver surrounded by a dark ring.

"Vampires," The man spat the word, and she recoiled on reflex. "I knew I smelt something off."

Alana winced at the hatred in his voice. Go figure, the man's nose was as good as Raymond's. She knew most vampires, including Otavio Russo, were not exactly on amicable terms with the children of the moon. Her brain scrambled for a way to save the situation.

"Alive or dead?" She inquired with a curious tone.

His head snapped up immediately. "What?"

"I don't make the distinction of race in my targets," She stated. 'Let them think what they want.' The insinuation of her words was true as the Romanian coven had been her target at some point. The Apuseni vampires had essentially paid a hiring fee. Fenrir was giving her a sharp stare and gripping his armrests. He took a gulp of his drink.

"What do you want?" He growled without any anger.

"I have an unregistered werewolf needing a pack." Her reply was short and to the point. She needed a pack for Jake's father, Christian, and Greyback's was the largest and most stable in Britain. Fenrir's reputation was in shambles, but aside from his closest, his pack was squeaky clean. It was the best she could do. Fenrir folded his arms pensively. A few of the other wolves in the room had turned to watch the ongoings with mild curiosity.

"In exchange?"

"I have the formula for Wolfsbane."

Alana relaxed some when she saw the surrounding werewolves perk up in interest. Lilith, who hadn't pried on what Alana wanted from her connections, also flicked her eyes in her direction. The potion was hardly perfect, but it would be useful to the pack. What's more, with a pack of their size, they could afford it.

"Bring the wolf to the next moon, and we'll see how they fare. The formula will need to be tested as well."

"That's no problem."

**1991 August**

Mr Matthews seemed to have aged decades since Alana last saw him. His dark hair was receding at a rapid pace, his attire was in anarchy, and his hands shook with every movement. Guilt somehow wormed its way into her gut even though she refused to believe she played any part in his deterioration. It was lycanthropy. She wondered how long the man had had it. She recalled his monthly trips as a child with far more suspicion than she used to.

The process of convincing both men to accompany her to Greyback's pack was long and arduous. Neither were willing to leave their lives to move to Sussex. It was an argument to which she had responded by explaining that the pack offered timed portkeys to its members. It was one of the many reasons she had chosen them. Fenrir had the support of many magical werewolves and was a reputed half-blood himself. His skill with a wand had won him favour and the protection of the dark lord in the last wizarding war.

They had caved eventually to her insistence, and the group had travelled there in time for the full moon. Raymond had been disapproving of her increased relations with the wolves, but she dismissed him as the interaction was, in truth, long overdue considering her contact with the vampire coven. His protests were based on personal circumstances, so they were invalid, and he knew it. He had been a lone werewolf for so long that he could no longer adjust to the pack life. Thus, it was no surprise that he tended to avoid Greyback's group.

The night air was crisp, and she anticipated a clear sky for the full moon. It was perfect for a hunt, but she would not have the luxury of joining this one. One of Fenrir's Betas greeted them on the path, and they were shown to the Alpha with little preamble. The eerie golden glow of werewolf eyes was inconcealable so close to the full moon. Fenrir looked ready to bite into Jake when he saw the wizard. Fortunately, he backed down when Christian growled in response to the clear intent. He didn't want his son to go through the same ordeal he did every month.

"He is your son. Do you not want him to join your pack?" The annoyance was clear in the leader's voice, but Mr Matthews stood firm. It seemed that he had not changed as much as she had first thought.

"It will be his choice and his choice alone," He replied.

"After I graduate," Jake interrupted, and both males had snapped their heads toward him at the same time. "It will be easier that way," The teen finished. The Alpha nodded with satisfaction while Christian looked as though he wanted to argue. It was clear they hadn't discussed the topic. Alana cast the young boy a look. He had to already know the discrimination he would face as a werewolf, and yet he was willing to part with his privileges for his father. She was once again reminded of the younger boy who had offered her friendship.

Fenrir was far less hasty to eat the young boy now that Jake had expressed his intent. In a word, he was 'civil' with both of the non-werewolves present. There was fragile toleration in the way he allowed their presence as he informed Mr Matthews of the way things worked during the full-moon. Alana and Jake both made their way inside where the witch threw up a few wards to mask their scent and sound. The building already had wards up, but she was hesitant to give them her full trust. She knew the night would be a long one, so she took a seat and brought out one of her more interesting books. Jake eyed her warily after the display of magic but soon settled himself in his own place where he fiddled with the hem of his shirt anxiously.

"Is he safe?" The question came about thirty minutes in and drew her out of her reading. She lifted her gaze for a few seconds to answer him.

"He will be fine. Greyback knows what he's doing."

"Greyback bites children for fun."

"I wouldn't take the Daily Prophet as gospel."

"It's not just the Prophet."

"Did he come across as the type to bite children randomly to you? Do you think he would endanger his pack for one extra member?"

"..."

She considered the conversation. She was somewhat surprised to find that she believed herself when her reply had only been meant to comfort the boy. She didn't believe the rumours, or rather, she thought them to be half-baked truths. It was hard to imagine the man throwing himself at babies to make more werewolves when he was so utterly disgusted by anyone who wasn't one. If anything, she'd expect him to want to keep lycanthropy within his pack and their immediate families. Maybe he'd use it to make an example of someone on the rare occasion. She knew that Greyback's pack did a bit of smuggling in their spare time and committed the odd murder. Perhaps, he wanted to extend the rights of his pack by changing wizards like the prophet said, but she couldn't imagine him tearing into wizarding children for simple fun. Then again, she could just be too naive to see the truth.


	29. 27) Trading Rights

**1991 August**

To every story, there is a prologue, a tragedy to every hero, and a hope for every sacrifice.

We all become stories in the end.

This was the truth that Alana lived by. The image of Gaia's sanctuary only reaffirmed this belief with its haunting beauty. The adorned walls which may have once inspired awe had lost their splendour all too quickly. Her reality was forced immortality, an eternity of death. She would watch as the world decayed before her. She would act as Death's sword and shield, it's scythe.

Alana's eyes were not the only to witness the death of the woman who had taken one step too many down the streets of Knockturn. The brunette could barely be considered an adult with willowy limbs and almond eyes. The life was removed from those irises piece by piece as Alana drew a silver blade across the woman's throat. Blood dripped from where her fingers clenched the thin neck. The woman choked, blood filling her throat and spilling out of her angry mouth. It dripped to the floor in a steady beat. Alana dropped the corpse, none too eager to watch the life leave its eyes. The sight still brought her some discomfort.

She didn't say a word as she shoved the woman aside to take her seat. The occupants of Harley's had stilled at the display, but she couldn't have cared less at that moment. Raymond clapped a hand on her back, and she clenched her jaw in distaste. Some days, she questioned why the heads of the underground were so eager to let her draw the blade across those who broke the rules. Perhaps, they thought it would be more of a statement. Perhaps, they wanted someone easy to blame. Or maybe, they simply took joy in seeing her take a life as most who did didn't live to tell the tale. Her blade was wiped with the black cloth she kept for such occasions. She didn't need to see the red to know she had killed.

"We don't tolerate snitches," Raymond spoke the words with deadly calm. His Scottish brogue drowned the thoughts of all present. "There is no place for weakness in Britain."

Alana gazed emptily at her empty glass while the man continued his usual speech. He had slowly but surely been taking over Raoul's role, though whether this was with the man's blessing or not, she had no idea. Regardless, it left a sour taste in her mouth. He ruled with an iron fist that had grown suffocating in recent weeks. Being paraded about as though she was his personal hitman only fed the annoyance brewing uncomfortably in her chest. She had taken to using growth potions with fervour to reduce the risk brought by increased publicity. The current trending rumour going around was that she had previously been taking age reducing potions. It seemed to help people sleep better, thinking that children weren't murdering people.

Raymond had been pushing his luck with her, and she knew the man wouldn't stop until she made a stand against him. He was waiting for her to protest so he could break her more effectively. Such a good friend he was. With the increased frequency of his examples, she was mildly surprised the ministry hadn't caught on. Then again, perhaps they had and simply didn't care enough to intervene. The ministry would never openly attack Harley's for fear of throwing the underbelly of British society into chaos, but that didn't mean the rest of Knockturn wasn't fair game. She wasn't safe. One slip and anyone of them would be a goner. She left the tavern with heavy thoughts weighing on the back of her mind. She did not like the direction Harley's had taken, but she could hardly complain if she wasn't willing to do something about it.

A few days later, Alana sat in Azrael's library pouring over ancient tomes with a quill and chalk in hand. The room was as quiet as the grave with as many dust mites in the air as there were books on the shelves. The window, an ancient thing framed by heavy curtains, let in a stretch of light which lit her worktable. She was reading _The Ars Notoria, _a book which provided a somewhat exciting contrast to some of her darker books on the rituals and etiquette of demonology. There were a number of other books stacked beside her which further revealed the reason for her concentration: _Apparitions and Apparition_, _The Legacy of Da Vinci in Runes_, and _Fidoro's Analysis on Wizarding Transportation. _The assortment indicated the nature of her current project: A new system for apparating. Alana had an inkling that reading up on the subject would immensely improve the chances of her success in creating a new addition to her summons. She was correct in her assumption. **Ding!**

**Notification: New Creation in Mindscape!**

Would you like to make a new creation in Mindscape?

YES or NO

**Notification: New Creation in Mindscape!**

Species: Quest System

Would you like to name your creation?

YES or NO

**Creation: Sagittarius**

Species: Quest System

Experience is the best teacher. Titles can be earned through completing quests. Rewards will be determined by the creator's knowledge. Note: Sagittarius cannot be levelled.

Alana grabbed the book that had materialised before her and ran her fingers across the leather front. There was a gilded pattern of thorny vines framing the edges, and a large clasp bound its weathered pages together. She unclasped the book gently and admired the solid binding with an appreciative gaze. Then she read.

**Current Contracts:**

**-n/a-**

**Side Quests:**

**Kill Fairies (230/1000)**

Reward: Title - Fairy Hunter - Increased resistance to Skill: Allure

**Kill Vampires (54/500)**

Reward: Title - Vampire Hunter - Skill: Physical Aura Control (active)

**Kill Werewolves (12/500)**

Reward: Title - Wolf Hunter - Skill: Magical Aura Control (active)

**Acquire Contracts (198/500)**

Reward: Title - Persuasive - Increased proficiency in Skill: Legilimency

**Complete Contracts (198/500)**

Reward: Title - Perfectionist - Increased proficiency in Skill: Occlumency

**Acknowledge Patron (2/500)**

Reward: Title - Devout Follower - Increased benefits in related rituals

**Main Quests:**

**Destroy the Philosopher's Stone (0/1)**

Request: Life Reward: Instant Apparition Pack (10/10)

**Destroy Dementors (0/350)**

Request: Death Reward: Death's approval

**Drink from the skulls of your enemies (0/500)**

Request: Chaos and Pain Reward: Wandless Crucio Pack (5/5)

**Current Titles:**

\- **Follower of Death** \- Skill: Language of the dead (active)

The sound of cursing filled the house as Alana hurled a particularly sharp quill so hard that it lodged itself in the wall. Her eyes were wild as she glared at the bottom three quests and growled.

"Bloody deities! Approval my ass!" She screamed in frustration and resisted the urge to hurl the old tome in her lap. She shoved it off her instead and began to pace the room. Her posture was rigid as she fumed internally. She swore Death was messing with her. Oh, the first five quests had been tolerable, generous even, but the last three.

She glared scathingly at the notification box. Now the deities were making requests of her. Life, Pain and Chaos weren't even her patrons, and the buggers had managed to slide one in. She imagined the four deities giggling beside each other as they wrote the quests and glowered. Apparently, Death's Approval was worth doing the impossible for. How did one even destroy a dementor?! It was unheard of! And don't get her started on the Philosopher's stone. Hadn't these fuckers heard of Full Metal Alchemist! She was doomed! Doomed!

While Alana continued to curse her lot in life, the deities were celebrating their own good fortune.

"Ha, hahaha! Your child is hilarious, Death!" Pain was hunched over, laughing at Alana's reaction with tears in his eyes. Death turned his faceless hood towards the lower deity with refined interest. Tattered shadows clung to his tall frame, swaying like garments in a nonexistent breeze. His cloaked figure reclined arrogantly on an obsidian throne with a dull scythe resting against his thigh. The unmarked throne was the centrepiece of his very generous domain.

"Did you expect any less of me?" He inquired, and his voice echoed ominously across the never-ending space. Pain laughed again, albeit more nervously than before, and ran a dark-skinned hand through his white hair. His form could have almost been considered human if not for the long tail that swayed behind him and the short horns on his head. He resembled what most humans thought a demon to look like with slit pupils, short hair and sharp features. Beside him was a red-haired female with similar features but where his irises were gold, hers were an intense green.

The female Chaos shot Pain an irritated look before she allowed her dice to roll along the black, stone floor. "Four sixes," She lied and turned her attention back to the image reflected in the pool beside her. Death had undoubtedly, the best view of the mortal realm despite being the most recent deity to acquire a child champion. Then again, perhaps, he had found a way to watch the mortal realm from his without the aid of a child aeons ago. She would not put it past the scheming being. The laws that restricted smaller deities such as herself were not so relevant for Death who crossed multiple realms. The pool was a large circular hole in the black stone of Death's keep and showed a young soul throwing hexes at a dummy that looked suspiciously like Death's current form if such an image could be captured.

"I think she's lovely." The airily voiced comment came from the blond-haired bastard leaning in his own makeshift throne. He sat across from Death with his chin in his hand as he peered curiously into the depths of the viewing pool. The man was a great deal smaller than Death and fully human in appearance. His fair hair was long and silky, reaching his waist in the most sexually confusing manner possible. He was decked in green and white, colours which suited his motherly smile and tea-green eyes very. He was Life.

Much to Chaos' annoyance, Life had been visiting Death far more frequently in recent millennia. It meant that Death was far less likely to bend the rules for the two lower deities as Life a meticulous law abider. Chaos scowled at her dice as Pain called her out on her lie. At least Fate had left. She couldn't stand having the snobby, female deity constantly winning every game of Liar's dice. It was a well-known fact that Fate was addicted to gambling, and she would have been looked down on for it was she not so very good at it. Chaos cast a last look into the viewing pool and felt her features morph into a grin. It would be entertaining to see how the girl fared with her quests. She'd never seen such a clever manifestation of magic in that particular world and took immense pleasure in knowing that Death and his Alexis had such similar dispositions. Had they not been of such a similar mindset and strength of will, she doubted the linked mind magic would have worked at all. She would enjoy watching the two play, and she imagined the girl would learn to enjoy the game as well.

**1991 August**

Alana held the skull in her hands with an impassive face and walked up to the counter of the Knockturn Alley store.

"I'd like to get this made into a cup," She requested, and the clerk nodded without any visual reaction. Internally, Alana continued to kick herself for being such a pushover when it came to the deities. She was lucky that most ornament shops sold skulls and that finding a craftsman who could accomplish her task was not too difficult. It was, however, expensive as few people knew the tricks to make sure no dead spirits came back to haunt you for using their skulls as cutlery. Five hundred enemies was a lot for her, especially considering she had to give away the heads of most of them as proof of her jobs completion. It was a pain, but she suspected that was the point. She had no idea what to do about the dementors, so she left that task on the backburner and considered the stone.

The Philosopher's Stone was the creation of Nicolas Flamel, a French wizard, alchemist, scholar and scribe. According to a substantial amount of research, he was born in the 14th century and one of the oldest wizards alive. He was also close friends with Albus Dumbledore and had partnered with the man on more than one occasion. Alana had gone so far as to search up references to the man in muggle mythology, of which, there was an abundance. According to legend, an angel gave Flamel a magical book containing the secret to the stone's creation in a dream. He and his wife, Perenelle, had travelled the world to decode the script and accomplished the task in around 1382. The Stone was said to be able to turn lead into gold and create the elixir of life. The former seemed likely as historical records showed Flamel had become extremely wealthy after the year of its creation and donated nearly all of it to charity. The more she discovered, the more she had to begrudgingly respect the man. He had been the subject of multiple assassination attempts, abductions and death threats over the years due to his refusal to share the Stone's secrets. It was, therefore, unlikely that she would succeed in her quest.

Fortunately, she may not have to take action against the man. Assuming that her memories were correct – which they were – and that the entire plot of the first Harry Potter novel wasn't completely thrown off course by her presence, the Stone would be at Hogwarts this coming year. She prepared accordingly and warded her trunk to high heaven to protect her tools. The Stone had piqued her interest, though not as much as its creator. To turn lead into gold and grant immortality suggested a common branch of magic. The Stone being a transfiguration tool was the most likely option. She already suspected the Resurrection Stone to be a necromancer's instrument though she herself had no knowledge of the arcane branch of magic. She was eager to try a few experiments with the Stone before destroying it. A little extra gold surely wouldn't hurt her bank account.

**1991 September**

Alana boarded the Hogwarts Express eager to start her quest. Her Sycamore wand was practically vibrating with excitement in its holster. It was a markedly different experience from the previous year where she had moped the whole way. Now, she was quick to slide into the compartment with Lola, Charlotte and Leoen. She gave the company a dashing smile.

"Someone's in a good mood," Charlotte commented with an arched eyebrow. Her own violet eyes were alight with amusement, and a book was settled in her lap.

"I had an interesting holiday," Alana replied with a slightly more tamed smile. "How was yours?" She asked as she settled into her seat next to Leoen. The Volkov's mouth twitched at her arrival, and Alana smirked slightly at his attempted suppression of a smile. From his stories of his family's training regime, she imagined his own holiday to have been hellish, so she didn't do him the disservice of asking.

"I accompanied my parents on a business trip to Bulgaria. They were discussing the changes that needed to be made with their trading agreement. It's rather annoying having to work around the Black legacy. They still own half the ports there even though they're all incarcerated. It's ridiculous if you ask me. We've managed to chip away at their estate a bit, but it's slow going," Charlotte complained. Lola patted her friend on the back consolingly.

"My parents and I went to Ireland for a bit. We were looking around the ruins for one of my papa's archaeology projects. It was fun," The girl shared with a soft smile. Alana hummed in reply. Lola had been raised by two wizards, one who specialised in curse breaking and the other in ancient ruins. Their family trips always made for interesting stories and, more often than not, she'd find herself wanting to meet the couple in person. Their jobs sounded fascinating.

"I managed to get a new book," Alana said when both witches looked to her for her story. Leoen snorted in amusement at the answer.

"Figures," He mumbled.

The train ride passed with friendly conversation and an assortment of treats after the trolley lady passed by. It was a slow slip back into school mode as they moved from discussing holiday activities to the assigned homework and chosen electives. Alana was particularly happy she could drop flying classes.

They arrived at Hogwarts in a flurry of teenage angst and juicy gossip. Most of it revolved around the existence of one wizard who would be joining the school body that year. Harry Potter. Alana could sense the shift in alliances. It was most noticeable in the Slytherins and Gryffindors. The middle year levels were glaring at the other houses while the elder years kept silent vigil over their respective groups. The atmosphere was suffocating as they entered the Great Hall and took their seats. Alana searched for Lucian amongst the Slytherins and found him engaged in a conversation with the girl next to him. His shoulders were stiff, but he seemed otherwise comfortable. The same couldn't be said for Rowan Blackwood in Gryffindor who looked like someone had shoved his fencing sword down his spine. Needless to say, the copper-haired hunk didn't notice the girls fawning over him. She dearly hoped the tension wouldn't affect the fencing club, but she wasn't holding her breath.

Professor McGonagall began her yearly mission of leading the flock of new students into the Great Hall. The stern-looking witch stood, and her tight bun of black hair bobbed with the movement. It was rather ominous how quickly the hall quieted as she adjusted her glasses to read the name list. "Hannah Abbot," She began, and Alana heard half the hall let out a breath of relief. They weren't starting with Potter. The professor looked up to place the sorting hat on the girl's head.

A few seconds passed and then, "Hufflepuff!" Polite applause followed, and the next person was called up to be tried and tested...

"And executed," Alana mumbled, completing the thought.

"What was that?" Leoen asked.

"Oh, nothing," She responded quickly and returned her attention to the sorting.

Finally, the name was called. The name that should never be spoken. The name that caused the defeat of the greatest dark wizard of all- "Harry Potter," The professor announced. Alana flicked her gaze to the child shuffling his way up the stairs. He was a small thing with a black bird's nest that barely passed for hair and an unkempt uniform. He was too thin for a child his age, but she doubted anyone would notice, preoccupied as they were with his reputation. She was sure he'd be quite handsome when he was older, but for now, he appeared a scrawny, pale stick with vaguely feminine features and large green eyes. Alana could see why most commented on the Avada kedavra orbs. There wasn't really anything else remarkable about him. The boy managed to find his way to the stool without issue before his face was soon obscured by the sentient hat.

Hat Stall. The two words were murmured throughout the room. She could feel the unease of her classmates.

"Gryffindor!"

The delayed reaction to the hat's bellow had Alana quirking her lips in amusement. Then all hell broke loose.

"We got Potter!" She heard the shout from the two twins on her blacklist and narrowed her eyes. Maybe she should have roped the boy into Ravenclaw just to mess with them. On second thought, she'd rather not have the paragon of all things light and fluffy in her fence sitter house. The Gryffindors continued to celebrate while the number of scowling Slytherins increased. She almost felt sorry for the Potter boy. He had just made a great number of powerful enemies. Alana leaned on her elbows and scanned the teacher's table.

The trash defence teacher had 'mysteriously' disappeared during the holidays. An innocent smile flickered across her face. Mysteriously. Professor Kettleburn was also on extended leave by the looks of things. It was a shame, but she doubted it was the last she'd see of the man. The most interesting addition to the table, aside from the half-giant replacing him, was the new DADA teacher, Professor Quirrell, who carried the messed-up mug of the Dark Lord under his turban.

Lord Voldemort was a topic she didn't want to touch with a five-foot barge pole. He was the dark wizard that had dominated Britain after WWII, capitalising on the new-found fear of muggles and muggle-borns. It was he who had restructured the aristocracy, overturned the underground, championed the rights of dark species, and fought for the freedom to practice arcane magics. For all his accomplishments, like most leaders, he was cast from his position, his own body in fact, by his own arrogance and paranoia. Insane, some called him. Genius said others. You-Know-Fucking-Who.

Sure, she could kill him. Well, she could try. She wouldn't deny the thought had crossed her mind. However, she preferred to make enemies that stayed dead. The old man would probably come back as a fetus after a few years, and she'd have to kill him again. He had shattered his own soul for goodness sake, and he obviously had some brain cells left as well if he had managed to stop the darker purebloods killing each other for a few decades. She didn't have the motivation to hunt down the several soul pieces of Dark Lord for the good of wizarding kind or whatever codswallop they fed the public these days.

In any case, it was unlikely that she'd have the skill to find the pieces, let alone destroy them, without the guidance of a Horcrux, a soul piece. Voldemort was not gentle with his magic, and she had no illusions that he did not ward his anchors to living plane to high heaven and back. Her eyes flicked to Harry Potter who was surrounded by his new housemates already. He had no idea of the storm that was coming - raised like a pig for slaughter. The words used to describe the boy saviour had never seemed more accurate.


	30. 28) Maestro

**1991 October**

Quidditch trials were quite possibly the most boring waste of time Alana had ever had the displeasure of observing. Alas, the social expectations of high society burdened her so. Alana stretched her arms and pushed herself off the quidditch stand seats. She attempted to get the blood flowing again in her stiff backside but had little luck. The young witch made it down to the field and gave a polite smile to the Slytherin team just as Lucian Bole and Peregrine Derrick landed with their brooms. The group mostly ignored her presence except for the few that were familiar with her.

"What do you think? Gryffindor doesn't stand a chance with this year's recruits," Lucian preened under the witch's attention. She chose to ignore the fact that he was one of those new recruits. The fact that he was complimenting himself didn't seem to bother the boy in the least.

"It's never been much of a competition to begin with, though, has it?" She commented lightly. Slytherin had a winning streak in Quidditch that matched their House Cup winner record. The only real threat to their Quidditch team was the new Hufflepuff seeker Cedric Diggory. Both Peregrine and Lucian looked exceedingly pleased with her response.

"Clearly the Ravenclaws are living up to their reputation of being smart," Peregrine complimented in return, and she raised an eyebrow as if to say 'of course'. She left shortly after with a polite farewell and made her way back to the castle.

Despite it being one week into the term, the first years were still running around in an effort to find their classes. Alana had no such difficulty navigating the area. She had explored the castle's major hallways thoroughly already. She was tempted to investigate the third-floor corridor but thought better of it. Dumbledore's welcoming feast warning of a very "painful death" befalling any who trespassed on the out-of-bounds area meant that many students would be chancing a look in the coming weeks. She'd wait until at least second term to see what wards had been strung up. Getting the stone would be one of her main goals that year. With those thoughts in mind and no classes, the witch opted to wander.

There was a music room on the fifth floor that she had made use of on a few occasions the previous year. She attempted to find the entryway, but with the castles habit of rearranging itself over the holidays, it proved to be an impossible task. It was a few corridors down that she found another decent music room. It was not as spacious as the previous, but the instruments were not as many that it needed the extra space. An antique piano took up a corner while a few string instruments and flute lay in various positions around the room. It was impossible not to consider the entire space a mess as pages of music scores had been scattered across every surface available like confetti. Alana picked her way through the mess with a frown before choosing to pick up the pieces of ageing parchment rather than risk wading through it.

She had about half a stack in her hand when the sharp sound of a broken piano pierced her ears. The paper dropped from her hands as she moved to cover her protesting sensory organs, and the playing stopped. Alana rubbed her temples and looked to the only piano in the room. Seated on the bench was a tall, handsome, ghostly specimen of a man immaculately dressed in a muggle suit. He was smiling apologetically at the young girl from the piano seat. Meanwhile, Alana was blinking confusedly at the familiarity of the dark-haired man. She could have sworn that she had seen the ghost's face before.

"Richard Farrell?" She questioned herself incredulously, and the man's eyes lit up as he bounced off the chair. There was undisguised enthusiasm in his gait as he reached out a hand only to let it drop to his side gloomily.

"That's me. My name that is. Who are you, if I may ask? I haven't had a guest in here for a while, and I can't seem to leave so…" The man rushed out all at once. She gave the ghost a curious look. Richard Farrell was legendary amongst pianists, a prodigy from New Zealand who had died in a car accident near Sussex, in 1958. It was before her time, but the man's death had been a tragedy for the musical community, so she was vaguely aware of it. One of her primary school teachers had been particularly distraught at the news. She had burst into tears mid-lesson, making the passing all the more memorable.

"My name's Alana. I wouldn't have guessed you were a wizard," She replied. Did New Zealand have a wizarding school?

"A wizard?" The man smiled uncomfortably. "I'm no wizard," He finished. "There's no such thing." Alana was openly staring at that point. Muggles didn't simply reappear as ghosts, much less as poltergeists. They didn't have the magic necessary to pull it off. She supposed he could have been a squib of some sort.

"How long have you been here?" She was at a loss for words when the thirty-two-year-old shrugged in reply. She ran her fingers through her hair while considering the situation.

"Have you tried leaving then?" She asked instead of pursuing the topic of magic. He was clearly out of the loop on that subject. The man replied in the affirmative and moved across the room to the door. When he tried to pull it open, his hand went straight through.

"I can't seem to get a good grip," He joked lightly. Alana wondered if this was the man's method of coping with his death. If he hadn't left the room since he died, then he had to have been in there for a few decades at least. Alana walked up to the man and opened the door for him. The smile she received in response was radiant enough that she had to turn away to regain her eyesight. He was quick to take a step out into the castle and looked down the corridor in confusion. "Where are we?" There was concern and a hint of apprehension in his tone.

"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

"Hogwash," He said harshly.

"No, Hogwarts."

"There is no such thing! Those are just fanciful stories."

Alana glanced at the male as he paced the floor. He was standing a good foot off the ground as he did this. "And you are a ghost," She deadpanned. Tact with trauma was not her speciality. She was a hitwitch, not a therapist. He looked at her like she had just kicked his puppy. Merlin, the man's emotions were as fickle as a dragon was hungry.

"I'm not dead," He said. She merely arched a brow and pointed to his floating feet. His expression darkened at the sight, and his jaw clenched. "I'm not," He repeated.

"Come on," She ignored his protests and instead motioned for him to follow her. There was little her consolation would do when he was six feet under De Nile River. The girl and ghost made their way towards the one person Alana was sure wouldn't immediately snitch on her having found a muggle ghost.

The Grey Lady, or Helena Ravenclaw as she was known while alive, was a proud witch whose cloaked form seemed to radiate haughtiness despite her efforts to appear serene. She was a beautiful, long-haired brunette with icy eyes. Thus, it was no surprise the Bloody Baron had fallen for her in his youth. The story was not so well known, but the Baron had murdered her in a fit of fury after having his profession of love rejected. Alana personally found the unrequited love of the Baron endearing, but his temperament left her wanting. He was remorseful, of course, and carried chains around him mutely as a ghost to show it. Unfortunately for him, it was a little too late to say sorry.

Helena soon came into view. "My Lady," Alana greeted with a bow, "I've found a new ghost, and he appears to have no knowledge of the magical world." Alana alerted the woman with who merely glanced at the small girl and then at the man floating behind her. Her empty gaze turned calculating before she gave the girl a nod and floated up to the pianist. Farrell was pleading with his eyes not to be left alone with the woman.

"Shall we speak then," Helena finally let the words slip out. Alana trailed behind the two as they talked. As an afterthought, she cast up silencing wards to prevent eavesdroppers.

Neither Alana nor Helena were sure how Richard Farrell had ended up as a ghost. They hypothesised that he may have been cursed by a wizard in Hogwarts and thus been bound to the building, but there was no definite method of testing the theory. Alana left it to the older woman to inform the headmaster of the development so as to not get implicated. Fortunately, the headmaster was less inclined to discriminate against a muggle and offered the man the same rights as the other ghosts. He could linger for as long as he felt necessary. His generosity may have been partly due to exorcism being rather expensive. Circe knows Binns would have been axed years ago if that weren't the case.

The pianist had taken to walking the castle halls late at night and often accompanied her at times for her early morning walks. Whatever sleep pattern he had followed as a human seemed non-existent to him now. Alana was rather pleased with the outcome and the reason for her pleasure was one she found to be perfectly obvious.

A few days later, the witch was leaning against the wall watching the selective poltergeist with fascination. It was curious that he was only able to touch musical instruments but not too unusual she acknowledged after some thought. Ghosts were emotional imprints, so their passions would naturally reflect in their abilities. He was playing Liszt's _Sonetto 104, del Petrarca_. Even the harshest critic would be forced to agree that the man had talent. Alana had eagerly fixed the piano for the man, and it had taken bare seconds before his fingers were dancing their way across the keys. Farrell had been ecstatic.

It was with great reluctance that the witch left the ghost for classes. If only Professor Binns were as energetic as Farrell. Perhaps then she wouldn't feel like killing the ghost history teacher a second time (or sixteenth as it appeared she was not the only one to have had such thoughts). Leoen joined her as she made her way to History of Magic and took her usual seat. What followed was torture so horrid, so vivid, so utterly boring, that she dared not communicate it in any way. Potions was another story altogether. The Ravenclaws had been unfortunate enough to be placed with the Gryffindors that year, and it was exceedingly difficult to work when Snape kept snapping at one every three seconds.

"I said slice, not dice!" "You blithering dunderhead, the quill goes in after stirring!" "Does that look edible to you?!" "It was a rhetorical question, Samuels!"

By the end of the day, Alana didn't even have the energy left to bang her head against the desk in transfiguration class. "Make it end. I'm dying, Leoen. Let my victims know that I have appreciated their sacrifice," She called to the boy as her eyes slipped shut. The wizard kicked the back of her chair as the professor entered.

"I do hope you aren't sleeping in my class, Miss Vincent." McGonagall's eyes narrowed warningly on her pupil.

"No. Just dying slowly," The witch replied then, in fear of being turned into a toad, she quickly explained, "I have a really bad headache from potions."

The woman almost looked… sympathetic at the mention of Professor Snape's stomping ground. "I see," She replied quickly and marched up to the board to start the lecture. Alana dragged her eyes to the board with a small sigh. At least she could count on Professor McGonagall's pity if nothing else.

Alana had a nap as soon as classes finished. She. Had. A. Nap! She was turning into an old woman and would be a crone by the time she graduated. And here she had thought the school was for setting up future marriage contracts in order to selectively breed the next generation of British wizards. Now she had found the true reason for the institution: generating crones. She had been too naïve. It all made sense now.

**1991 September**

Alana wasn't quite sure what to make of the situation.

"Alana, this is my distant cousin, heir Malfoy. Draco, this is my esteemed acquaintance, Alana Vincent." Lucian Bole looked to the younger boy for approval and received a pompous nod in return. Alana was tempted to jump out of the window, but they were on the third floor, and someone would freak out if she came back unscathed.

"Well met, heir Malfoy," She chose to say instead. Alana pulled on the polite smile she reserved for such situations and inclined her head to the boy. Like hell would she bow to the blond aristocrat. His father had contracted her a few too many times for her to feel comfortable exposing her neck.

"Well met, Miss Vincent. As you are on such good terms with my cousin, you may call me Draco." The blond looked like he had offered the witch the Tang Dynasty on a silver platter. Was it wrong that she wanted to strangle the arrogance from his blue eyes? Yes, it probably was.

"It would be my pleasure to extend the same courtesy, Draco." Alana managed to reply and shook the boy's hand firmly. Lucian looked incredibly relieved at how well the introductions were going, and she was determined to get an IOU out of him for it. She wasn't inclined to play pretend politician with a twelve-year-old, and that was exactly what it was. She had met quite a few Slytherins through Lucian and had so far managed to split them into two groups: the experienced and the inexperienced. Draco Malfoy belonged to the later, and he wouldn't be moving from that category any time soon.

The young boy tilted his head up slightly. His hair was a platinum blond that suited his aristocratic features well. Had she not known any better, she would have asked if he had any veela ancestry. He did, but it wasn't exactly a wise topic to bring up at a first meeting. Purebloods were so very touchy when it came to ancestry.

"My cousin tells me you work as a contractor," Draco started, and she raised an eyebrow. It was certainly an interesting place to begin a conversation. She wondered what business the child wanted with her.

"The details would be between myself and my employer, no?" She responded airily. If he wanted a game, then she would humour him. The little dragon was already floundering at her unexpected tone. Lucian looked uneasy as he vaguely recognised what was going on. Alana wondered where the two meat shields she had seen following the young Malfoy had gone. Crabbe and Goyle she thought their names were. The slyness in her eyes didn't match her warm smile as she spoke to the boy. "Is there, perhaps, something you wanted?"

"I thought that you might know where I could find a splicer. I would make it well worth your time," The boy found the courage to say. She met his gaze with open curiosity. A splicer was a difficult thing to find. They were wand-users who specialised in removing the trace or other unwanted curses from sensitive magical items such as wands. Her eyes slid to the wand holster barely visible from under his sleeve. Draco shifted as he realised where her gaze was and tucked his limb away from the sharp eyes. "Well?" He demanded sharply. Her lips quirked in amusement.

"You were doing well until you got defensive," She commented with a far more open smile. She felt far more comfortable knowing his weak points. "Do remember that your greatest defence is your mask. Lose that, and you may as well go into battle naked," She advised the young boy. His nostrils were flaring, and his eyes blazing in anger and indignation at the reprimand. She raised a hand to hold back his retort. "I know a few people that may be able to help your cause. Assuming, of course, you are still interested." She held a hand out to the boy. If he didn't take it, then he wasn't worth her time. She could accept someone with a temper, but not someone who couldn't take criticism and let their temper get in the way of getting what they wanted.

Draco bit down his anger and took the offered hand in a firm grip. "If you are willing," He replied. He couldn't afford to fail the task his father had set him. He had to get the trace removed from his wand by the end of the year without relying on his father's contacts. He would not disappoint.


	31. 29) Dungeons and Dragons

**1991 October**

"…and that is why vampires are dangerous more dangerous than werewolves," The student finished. Alana was ready to jump off the astronomy tower with the drivel her fellow fourth years had handed in as their individual assignment. Their arguments were based purely on personal bias and selectively chosen evidence if any at all. Worst still, professor Quirrell A.K.A. Voldemort had seen fit to subject the entire class to the individual reading of each paper. Her already endangered sanity was dwindling with every word. At least now she knew why she kept getting Outstanding's in all her classwork. If this was the standard, they might as well let her graduate now. Some of the students had clearly not taken basic essay writing classes.

"Miss Vincent, you are up next." The fact that Quirrell managed the sentence without a stutter was a miracle. She had considered many times whether the class was, in reality, a lesson in torture tactics. Voldemort was truly evil if his mind could invent such a painful method of education. She glanced at her assignment. She regretted her life choices. _I should have never questioned you, bully-san. _Her heart cried at the injustice of it all. Had she known the standard of work expected, she would have put less effort into writing her response to the question: _Are Vampires more dangerous than werewolves?_ The witch stepped up with a miserable look on her face and resolved to read the entire thing in monotone just to annoy the professor. If she had to suffer, by damn Morganna, she would bring him down with her.

"The question of whether werewolves are more dangerous than vampires can be answered neither quickly nor easily," She began with the tone of a dying old man.

"From a purely political point of view, vampires have more influence than werewolves. In countries like Spain, Italy, France and Romania, to insult a vampire would mean certain death. This is primarily because the politics of these countries are heavily controlled by the ancients, an alliance of elders who are dispersed between the separate covens. The resources available to vampires and the number of plausible allies far surpass that of werewolves, especially those in Britain. In a one-on-one encounter, a wizard would be fine granted they kept their distance and burned the body. However, this is contingent on whether they recognise the individual as a vampire in the first place. Werewolves can be identified by excessive hair, facial markings, the flash of their gold eyes and their habit of inhaling very deeply when they catch a new scent. For a vampire, the only indication is the red pigment in their eyes which can easily be covered by contacts or spells. Assuming they are not a blood-crazed newborn, a vampire will be difficult to differentiate from the common human being. Vampires have the advantage of stealth and resources. However, they will rarely be the first to start a fight. Most will avoid drawing the blood of magical creatures because the scent of it is difficult to remove, and another creature may easily recognise it. Vampires are classified as living dead rather than beasts under magical law."

"In contrast, Werewolves are far more aggressive, especially towards vampires and wizards. In Britain, this is particularly true with the main pack's alpha being notorious for his dislike of any non-werewolf. They are physically stronger with bulletproof skin that will repel most projectiles. They also possess a certain level of resistance to magical spells. On a full moon, a werewolf experiences a boost in magic to the point where they could easily take on several wizards at once and still come out unscathed. Along with this boost comes a loss of sense of self for all but a rare few. Lycanthropy improves all of the senses, including one's ability to sense magic. This is one of the reasons the ministry uses to justify the mandatory registration of werewolves. Turned muggles would pose a risk to the statue of secrecy. Werewolves have a strong sense of community and find it difficult to live alone. This is not to say, however, that a lone werewolf is any less dangerous than one in a pack. They can be just as lethal without the support of another hence their rating as XXXXX Beasts. If it is a personal choice, I would rather face a vampire than a werewolf. They are more tolerable towards wand-users and generally more polite."

There was silence as she finished her monologue, but she paid it no mind and took her seat. Leoen was looking at her like he had seen the gateway to Valhalla. She was too busy drawing chibi vampires in her book to care about the searching look he was giving her.

"A m-m-most interesting thesis, Miss Vincent. I w-would love to discuss the t-topic f-further, but it s-seems the be time f-for lunch," The professor stuttered to the cheers of the class. "W-would y-you stay behind f-for a f-few minutes, M-miss Vincent?"

The witch felt herself groan at the knowledge her monotone had done nothing to disinterest the professor. Truly, Voldemort was a force to be reckoned with. Leoen gave the witch a pitying glance before leaving with Charlotte. If only he knew who was on the back of the teacher's head. Perhaps then he wouldn't be so quick to abandon her. Then again, there was only so much of the DADA teacher one person could take in a sitting. Alana rolled her eyes at her friend's behaviour and settled behind one of the front desks. She rested her chin on her folded hands with her elbows on the desk. She was rather curious as to what the Dark Lord wanted to chat about. Surely, he hadn't discovered any of her sinister secrets.

"I couldn't help but n-notice your interest in the s-subject of discussion today and wanted to s-suggest a few books. You would make a f-fine politician with your attitude," Quirrell began.

"I wouldn't call it an interest, professor. It just seems like something I should know," The witch explained truthfully. "I'm not one for pandering so I don't think I'd much enjoy being a politician." Having the man so focused on her was mildly unnerving. Alana was eternally grateful she was talking to the watered-down version of Wizard Stalin as she was sure the man's full aura would be suffocating with the number of lives he'd taken.

"I s-see. Just a th-thought. Have you considered a f-future career yet?" The professor asked. He'd settled rather comfortably across from the witch. She wondered if stuttering was as exhausting as he made it look.

"I work on contracts during the holidays," She confided. It hardly mattered to her if the man found some interest in her. He would be dead by the end of the year and have more important things to worry about. Like getting a new body or killing the Boy-who-lived-to-take-all-the-credit-for-killing-the-dark-lord. Wow, that was a mouthful.

"M-marvelous. So f-few ambitious s-students these days."

Alana refused to laugh even when the man looked like Yule had come early. "I was simply bored with playing schoolgirl, professor." She let a sly grin take its rightful place on her face and leaned forward as though sharing a secret. "The world's far more interesting than class makes it out to be," She told him before leaning back to grab her bag. "You'll have to excuse the abrupt departure, sir, but I'm afraid that I'll miss lunch if I stay any longer." It was with those final words that she left. If there was a skip in her step, she didn't notice it.

It was later that day that she received an unexpected invitation from Terence Bagnold, the Ravenclaw prefect and proverbial King of the nest. It was a piece of parchment covered with an impressive number of charms that invited her to a gathering in the forbidden forest. If that didn't sound ominous and cult-like, she wasn't sure what did. She considered the probability of living to regret her curiosity as she spelled the parchment to indicate her positive response. From the suggestive language of the letter, she had gathered that the event would include more than just Ravenclaw students. She wondered at the implications. She hadn't joined the Ravenclaw court, so it was quite bizarre. It was all very interesting.

Alana made it to the forest in record time despite not intending to rush. The sky was already a pitch-black indicating that night had well and truly fallen. She was not familiar with the forest's twists and turns, so she sensibly hid and followed the first cloaked figure to pass by. It was fortunate that she had experience traversing similar terrain before or she would have quickly lost track of the fast shadow. Eventually, they arrived near a clearing laden with wards. The witch had cloaked herself as an afterthought that night, so she had the joy of watching the one she had tailed jump seven feet in the air when she landed with a flutter of fabric. "Evening," She greeted the older boy. She had a decent view of his face from her lower height.

"Evening," The boy bit out and slid his wand back into his holster. He considered the fact that she hadn't reacted to its immediate drawing as sign enough that he shouldn't try his luck. Alana hummed approvingly as the boy withdrew and she held a hand up to feel the wards. Pisces was wrapped invisibly around her arm, making the task much more comfortable.

"The invitation will get you through fine," The boy huffed out as though it were obvious. She spared him a glance.

"It's bad form to not admire a warder's work," She simply replied. A silencing ward, a sensory ward and several more advanced magical concealment wards were woven together. It was the work of an amateur but by no means bad. Deeming them harmless, she slipped past them with her invitation. Soon after, the boy she had followed joined her.

There was a lull in the conversation when they passed through, and Alana vaguely recognised a few members of the Slytherin and Ravenclaw courts. There were a few Hufflepuff and Gryffindor prefects, but the representation was noticeably less. She slipped her hood down without any dramatics and made her way towards her house's court to pay her respects. She was rather curious why the invitation hadn't included 'bring your togs' as the main feature of the clearing was a large pool lined with runes for heating. Her unspoken question was answered soon enough when she spied a girl transfigure her uniform into togs out of the corner of her eye. Well then.

She felt rather small in the room, but it was nothing on the atmosphere in Harley's. She kept herself steady with the comparison.

"My King," She greeted Terence with the formal address she dearly hated. She was relieved when he waved away the title and invited her to join the group in the pool. It took all of her considerable patience not to glare at the prefect. He obviously knew she didn't know the transfiguration spell. That level was at least sixth-year material. He wasn't stupid, so it was a test. She considered dipping into someone's mind for the spell, but she doubted anyone present didn't know occlumency basics. So there was her first predicament: disobey her king, the equivalent of inner house suicide, or embarrass herself and say goodbye to any future prospects. This was worse than Mean Girls. It was wizarding society at its finest.

Alana scrapped her brain for any viable alternative. The few options she could find left her worse for wear. She slipped her wand out thoughtfully. She knew the bare minimum when it came to changing clothes, and transfiguration was not her forte. She had tried colour and had to add charms to her own gear before, but full transfiguration was infinitely more complex.

So she broke it down. First, she would need to discard her coat. Second, her pants would need to have the silencing spells on them removed, their length shortened and the material's weave changed. Then, the same would need to be done to her shirt. She had never been more grateful to have a wardrobe that consisted mainly of cotton and silk. They were the two easiest fabrics to manipulate with magic when untreated. She dragged her wand from her toes upwards to her neck. There was no need for words when multiple spells were being cast. It simply wasn't possible to concentrate and speak fifty words at the same time.

She took longer to complete the full process than it would have with a pre-laid transfiguration spell but not by too much. She could feel the drain on her core acutely and hoped she wouldn't have to do anything strenuous for the next hour. With her shoes and socks gone, she stepped into the pool. The water was pure bliss. She could smell several herbs but couldn't have named them if she tried. She was too lost in the fact that her muscles were relaxing for the first time in aeons. She was only fifteen, but anyone who cared enough to look could see well-defined muscles and a small tattoo on her right arm. Her body bore the signs of enhancement potions and a well-developed magic core.

The tattoo had been a gift from one of her legal clients after she'd helped them with a poisonous pixie infestation. It was a Merizi tattoo in the shape of a lotus. The tattoo pulled a sample of any poisons and potions that entered the body towards it so they could be identified by a mediwizard. It was mostly used for making antidotes, but she had yet to find herself in a situation where she needed it. Alana sunk neck-deep into the water and gave Bagnold a sharp smile. Whatever was in the pool was restoring her magic reserves very quickly.

Terence seemed content to let her stew in her juices, so the witch took to people watching. Concern continued to bubble in the back of her mind as she considered the possible reasons for the boy's sudden animosity. There was the possibility that he sent the invitation to test her magical ability, but it wasn't his style at all. She was still pondering the possibilities when the blond toddler showed up looking distinctly uncomfortable despite his efforts to walk like he owned the place. Alana's eyebrows shot upwards at the unexpected addition. Sure, Malfoy was high up on the social ladder but inviting him to such a function was the equivalent of throwing him to the wolves. The event seemed to be an annual tradition, so she would have assumed his father would have properly warned him. It was like watching a sheep step into a lion's den.

Curiously, the young Malfoy was accompanied by the fifth year Marcus Flint who looked ready to tear into anyone who got too close. The blond stood a bit straighter as he crossed the wards and found a nearby rock to lounge on. He carried all the grace of a young King Arthur and none of the skill to back it up. It was laughable, really. Alana blinked lazily at the boy before shifting her attention elsewhere. She had noticed a few familiar faces amongst the attendees since arriving, namely Percy Weasley, Rowan Blackwood and Illumi Volkov. It was nice to know the Fencing Club was well represented. Rowan had been giving her curious glances the whole evening, but she could only shrug in reply. His guess was as good as hers as to why she was invited. She received the answer in the form of a scathing comment.

"Not going to pay respects to the Slytherin Princeling?" Penelope Clearwater asked with a hint of mocking in her voice.

Alana couldn't help but chuckle at the fifth year raven. "Why ever would I do that?" She was genuinely curious. While she had spoken to Draco on a few occasions, most of the time she was just insulting him tactfully. What did it matter if she made sure he picked up a few good habits in the process? Clearwater was frowning at the reply and moved to whisper something in Bagnold's ear. She was tempted to call them out on their obvious assumption but thought better of it. If they had thought she had pledged allegiance to another house, they needed their sight checked.

She was mildly placated now that she knew why Terence had been acting like a lover scorned. He thought she'd been cheating on him with the snakes. How cute. She wondered if he'd planned to make an example of her. His gaze met hers, and she deadpanned at the emotion she saw there. He was… still going through with it. She exhaled in realisation. You could hardly expect a King to take back a decree after all. While envisioning her future demise, she didn't notice the approach of Flint who spoke up as soon as he reached her.

"Draco wanted to talk to you about your contract." Dear Merlin, the brat knew how to get a reaction. A few eavesdroppers reeled back in surprise, and the majority of Ravenclaw was sending her glares. _'Deep breaths. Non-murderous thoughts. Positive energy. I am positive that I want to strangle someone.'_ It took her several seconds to collect her thoughts before she was leaping out of the water and throwing on a cloak. A wandless drying spell was cast where prying eyes couldn't see, and she made her way over. Malfoy was in the middle of being cornered by an older Slytherin when she arrived. It seemed Flint's absence had attracted flies.

"Good evening, Draco." She purred whilst smoothly intercepting the offending Slytherin's attention. She didn't recognise him, so she doubted he was important enough to be righteously offended.

"Alana," Draco greeted her with a nod. She noticed his shoulders relax and wanted to slap him for lowering his guard so soon. He says he wants to talk and suddenly she's playing his knight in shining armour. The kid needed help of the mental kind.

"We were talking," The older Slytherin interrupted, then followed with a curious, "Who are you?"

"Who am I? Now that's hardly the way to ask," Alana reprimanded lightly. It was almost comical given her height disadvantage, but she was letting off all kinds of warning signals in the minds of spectating Slytherins. They couldn't protest either. The Slytherin had made the rookie mistake of not asking to be introduced when Malfoy had declared her his acquaintance greeting her by name. Alana didn't bother to mask her sharp gaze and instead let it be the main feature of her persona. Her eyes were matched by the smooth movements of a prowling predator. The transformation was so swift that it left a few off-kilter. Draco, who had adjusted to her shifting presence over the past weeks only patted the seat next to him with a faux apologetic smile.

"Now, now, Alana, you can hardly expect everyone to follow etiquette." Draco paired the insult with a soft smile that suited him rather well. She almost felt proud of the child and decided to play along for his sake. Her bridges with Ravenclaw seemed to be burning at the moment anyway. She placed herself neatly beside him and eyed the Slytherin who had decided to have a go at the Malfoy heir.

"Won't you introduce me to your… acquaintance, Draco."

"Alana, this is my recent acquaintance, Justin Kimberly. Kimberly, this is my lovely mentor, Alana Vincent." For once, Alana was glad for the strange method of introduction purebloods used. They made it crystal clear where you stood with someone. She managed to clip her surprise as the bud before it bloomed on her face. Instead, she sent the boy a sly smile. Being a mentor was a big deal. It meant you had the right to step in as the second (the backup) in your tutee's duel and offer council. It was one of the most highly regarded methods of creating inter-family alliances. The fact that Draco had used it on an unknown variable like her would bring equal benefits and trouble for them both. He was an idiot, but she would ignore that fact for a while.

"Oh, 'lovely' am I?" She teased. She appeared the older sister making fun of their younger sibling. It was intentional, and her words carried her silent criticism of his word choice. She knew the Malfoy's were looking at a marriage contract with the Parkinson's and calling another girl 'lovely' could be easily misinterpreted.

"Would you prefer 'annoying'?" Draco inquired, and she chuckled at his gall. Kimberly was looking increasingly uncomfortable standing where he was and made to leave.

"I don't believe we finished introductions, Kimberly." Draco reminded him just as he was about to turn. The boy looked close to tears with the realisation of his social faux pas. Turning your back when being introduced couldn't be interpreted as anything other than an insult.

"Merry met, Kimberly," Alana supplied helpfully, and the boy quickly returned the gesture. He practically fled after that. She was sure he'd be receiving criticism from his parents for his actions by the coming night. Now that the nuisance was gone, she turned to the young heir. "Flint seemed to be under the impression that you wanted to speak to me."

"I heard that Bagnold was planning on making an example of you," He answered in a whisper. She quirked her lips. He hadn't exactly helped the matter. She was sure the entire area was ridden with eavesdropping charms.

"I know," She replied.

"You do?" Draco looked up, surprised.

"Hmm… He's not very good at hiding his intentions, or rather, he wants me to know he has plans."

Draco shot her a look that asked if she needed any assistance. She smiled a bit before her eyes darkened. "I'll be fine, little dragon. No need to fret." For once, the blond didn't explode in indignation at the name and instead nodded calmly. Ah, they grow up so fast.

They say adversity builds character. Alana much preferred the phrase: adversity reveals one's character. She hadn't known what sort of example Bagnold had in mind but when she sensed the presence of a wizard creeping up behind her she felt… disappointed. Maybe they had looked down on her because she was homeschooled or maybe they just held that little faith in the education system. Either way, it was anticlimactic. The owner of the wand pointed at her back slowly circled to her front.

"Can I help you?" She asked with a bored tone and stepped up so as to distance herself from the younger Malfoy. The only reply she received came in the form of a spell whizzing inches from her face. "I really hate repeating myself," She advised the wizard. He was in Slytherin fifth year surprisingly enough. She wondered when Bagnold had found the time to convince a Slytherin to do his dirty work. It was unlike the house to agree to do the legwork.

"You've been walking about claiming you're a pureblood for the past year, but I know the truth! There's no pureblood House Vincent in Europe. You're just another filthy half-blood with their nose stuck in a book because they can't cast a single spell!" The boy yelled, and suddenly it wasn't such a mystery how Bagnold had roped him in. Alana wanted to gut something very badly. There was only so much stupid a person could take.

"I don't claim to be anything except what I am, dear, and you can hardly blame me if you lack the resources to understand what that is. If you are so sceptical of me, you are welcome to try, but I'm in no mood to humour anyone at present."

Another spell passed her face, and she sighed. What fifth year took three tries to land a spell? She stepped left and avoided the next as though it were as easy as breathing. "You are trying, yes?" She couldn't help but ask. She could have just let the boy win and called it a day. He was a year after above her after all, and there was no shame in losing. However… She ducked another spell… Draco had named her his tutor, and she'd be on the hit list for many Slytherins vying for the position if she didn't make her point now. The real question was how far she was willing to go. The next spell came, and she deflected it back with a soundless paralysing jinx. The boy threw himself out of harm's way. "This is getting us nowhere," She commented.

The entire display was one she found extremely embarrassing and yet, it was still attracting attention. Some looked amused by the display while others paid no mind. It was a new level of low for the renowned criminal. She finally relented to her inner desire and threw several spells in the boy's direction. The first portion of spells was dodged while a shield blocked the second. The shield, however, didn't belong to the boy. The dark-haired Ravenclaw responsible was someone she did recognise. She was one of the quieter seventh years in her house. Alana glanced between the boy and girl and noted the similarities.

"Despite my brother not initiating a formal duel, I hope you'll allow him a second." The girl was much more level-headed than her younger brother, a fact she found most gratifying. Her politeness had her lowering her wand in acquiescence. Terence Bagnold had a pleased look in his eyes that told her more than she needed to know about the situation. He had planned it meticulously.

Once the younger brother had been removed from the area, the two witches took their positions across from each other. By this point, everyone in the clearing was gathered around to watch. Some had even brought snacks. Alana brought her wand up to her forehead and then to her side after one of the Hufflepuffs explained the rules. "First blood wins, no irreparable damage, no informing of the teachers by the duellers or spectators." There were no stakes on the duel other than the reputation of the participants. The girl across from Alana, Maerwyn, was the first to cast. Her spell was vicious and to the point. It said more about the girl's character than it did cause damage. Alana dodged it, shifting out of the traditional duelling stance that only someone who wanted to die would use. She was returning fire eagerly in but a second. There was certain feline grace that didn't go unnoticed, especially by the only Volkov present. Maerwyn was quick to match anything Alana threw at her, and it soon became apparent that neither would have any luck wearing the other down. For every spell cast, two more were returned. The battle switched from that point.

Maerwyn pulled the ground up from beneath her opponent and froze it over in the next instant. It was clear that she excelled in terrain shifting magics. It was a branch Alana dearly hated but had forced herself to learn to defend against. She manoeuvred quickly as though the ground were no different from its original flat self. There were no excessive wand movements, no wasted breaths, no bursts of dramatic spell work. Each spell was controlled and focused with the intent of winning. It was a very Ravenclawesque duel with both witches prodding for faults in the other's style while conserving their own magic. When they came up empty, they pushed harder.

Alana had to stop herself from summoning Aquarius by accident a few times during the duel. It was more out of habit than any real need as Pisces was still curled around her bicep. Thankfully, she hadn't cast anything illegal by accident. She hadn't realised her repertoire was so limited. It was weird to realise the majority of her spells were of the INSTANT DEATH variety. She turned the icicles Maerwyn had just fired into butterflies that flew into her face. Another attempt at a silencing spell followed that along with one that caused the ground beneath her to cave in. Eventually, Alana caved and started to cast wordlessly.

The ground was thoroughly torn apart when Maerwyn began to show signs of tiring. Earth magics were naturally more demanding than other branches of magic, and it showed later into the duel. In terms of stamina, Alana would outclass most simply due to experience in expending and conserving energy. She had learnt the hard way to keep tabs on her core. She shot another two paralysing jinxes with two support spells that caused one to speed up directly towards the target and the other to bend in its trajectory and hit it from the side. Maerwyn managed a last-minute full-body shield that pulled at her core demandingly. Alana didn't give her the time to recover and knocked her out with the sleeping spell somnio. Her wand was tucked away after she'd disarmed the older witch and she turned to the referee. The Hufflepuff had been forced a good distance away by the duel but called the victor as soon as she turned to him.

Alana hadn't broken a sweat from the duel, but as she flexed her fingers, she found them slightly cramped from where they had gripped her wand. She frowned lightly. Draco looked extremely proud of himself. You would have thought he had been the one duelling. Most of the spectators were still in shock at how far the duel had escalated and the outcome of it. Alana stretched her arms tiredly. She still needed practice in using simpler spells. She was about to return Maerwyn's wand and wake the witch when she felt the familiar heat of an incoming hex. She didn't even bother to wait this time. She had already told the boy that she hated repeating herself, and there was no wand in her hand to cast a shield. She dodged the spell, and in a split second, the boy's wand was plucked from his loose grasp and his body pinned to the ground. Her magic was thick, scolding heat on his skin as he tried to move. The boy writhed helplessly with short breaths. She hadn't tried letting her magic loose without spellwork in a while and could feel its dissatisfaction at the easy duel.

"Learn how to lose gracefully. It will get you far in life," She advised the boy before knocking him out. She handed him to an unamused Maerwyn once the witch awoke. She was sure the girl would give him a piece of her mind later.

…

"I do hope you've properly considered your choosing me as your mentor," She commented to Draco as they both returned to the castle. Marcus Flint walked behind the pair with his eyes surveying the surrounding forest warily.

"You accept then?" Draco perked up.

"Well, I can hardly refuse when you declared it in front of everyone," She pointed out. "It would be considered humiliating for both of us when we've publicly agreed. Bagnold will no doubt be plotting to murder me in my sleep for the rest of the year. Everyone knows he's all for inter-house relations but accepting without his permission is essentially treason." She stretched like a cat. Draco looked a bit shaken by the news. "You'd best inform your father. Generally, wealthier houses choose mentors for their experience in parliament. People will see your choice as a weakness, Draco." Her eyes were lazy but filled with weight. If possible, Draco went paler.

"No one would dare stand against my father," He replied. There was a tremor in his voice, but his resolve was there. It was somewhat impressive even if it was born from ignorance. She rubbed her temples in annoyance. She had her work cut out for her. Quitting wasn't an option if she didn't want Malfoy senior clipping her wings, an art he was extremely skilled at. The older man had a reputation to keep, and while he wouldn't disgrace his heir, he would not be too pleased with him either.

Problems. All of these were problems she had to tidy up. Why did it seem as though the world was using her to clean up everyone else's mess? Arrangements would need to be made if she expected to survive long enough to disappear off-grid. She hated thinking about the future. It was dangerous territory for her.

"If your father is in agreement, I am willing to take to the political field after I graduate." The words were hollow without feeling. It felt as though she were signing a death warrant. Whether it was hers or not was the decision she was left to make. "I would not be averse to a contract. If anything, it would likely soothe both our minds."

Oh, how she hated the feeling of sick glee that was welling in her stomach. It went against all rational thought that she anticipated, craved even, the prospect of tearing into someone mentally. The feeling was as entirely uninvited as it was overpowering. She knew her eyes must have been dancing with mischief and delight as she looked down to the boy. "Should you still desire an alliance, it would be best to organise a meeting over the Yule break."

She was playing a dangerous game, keeping one foot in the shadows and the other in broad daylight. She would regret it. Of that, she had no doubt. Lucius Malfoy would do a background check and find nothing. While he was sweltered by his suspicions, she would be the one to offer the truth and her alliance. It was risky, but if she could pull it off, she would be able to create some wriggle room where Raymond was concerned. That thought alone was enough encouragement to last a century. She doubted Malfoy would be displeased to learn she had connections with the vampires. Nearly everyone wanted them considering the race's grasp on muggle businesses. She had plenty of cards up her sleeve. It was just a matter of playing them carefully.


	32. 30) Allies

**1991 October**

Alana let out a sigh of annoyance as she untethered several tripping hexes, a stinging curse, four alarm wards and a dizzying spell from her room's door. The entire situation was so utterly ridiculous that she was tempted to just let Aquarius poison the entire Ravenclaw population. She was barely two months into her second year of Hogwarts, and Terrence Bagnold seemed content to let his pigeon followers peck her to death. Their attempts to humiliate her were admirable, creative even.

She hadn't really minded at first. None of the older years were inclined to invest time into hexing her, and the youngsters didn't have the ability. The attempts weren't life-threatening or even that elaborate, but it had been a week already, and by now, their persistence had become annoying. She gratefully acknowledged that the lack of effort by capable students was largely due to certain friends of hers. The young witch deflected the few curses sent her way as she entered the common room and plonked down across from Leoen. The boy looked just as annoyed as she felt. His scowl as he glared at the room dared anyone to so much as raise their wand at her. She gave him a sheepish smile. Her friends all seemed more offended on her behalf than she was.

"They're annoying," He growled softly before moving his chess piece across the board. His grip tightened on the piece when she merely hummed in agreement. "How do you stand it?" He muttered. They both knew it wasn't really a question. It was a statement, a request, a plea to stop it, to stop them. Unfortunately for him, Alana wasn't the type to retaliate without indefinite cause and surely not for some pesky mosquitoes.

"It's only behind closed doors," She replied in an attempt to reassure him. Her approximation of Bagnold's personality seemed to have been spot on. He preached inter-house equality publicly and only allowed her ostracisation behind the safety of closed doors. Surprisingly enough, there had been a decrease in inter-house bullying and conflict after he'd made it known she was fair game. Everyone seemed content letting off steam with her as their target. Again, it was amusing at first but had turned repetitive after the first couple of days. She wondered if Professor Flitwick knew what was going on. Surely he had his suspicions. If he did, however, the half-goblin didn't speak a word against it. He couldn't, really. He wasn't the Ravenclaw King. It was with those thoughts bubbling in her brain that Alana began the day of Samhain.

It wasn't any different from a usual Thursday as far as she was concerned. She finished her morning routine before heading to the Great Hall and entered just in time to catch Draco about to throw a fit. Potter had been gifted a Nimbus 2000, by a staff member no less. The rule for first years not being allowed brooms obviously didn't apply to the famous Boy-Who-Lived. She reluctantly interrupted the brewing fight with a hand on the younger Malfoy's shoulder. As much as she would have enjoyed a good brawl to lighten her sour mood, it was neither the time nor the place.

"It's not worth the trouble," She whispered to him. It wouldn't do to have the boy throwing all his brand new toys on the floor in a tantrum. He'd regret it eventually. She gave the Potter boy the kind smile she normally reserved for comforting friends and led Draco away with the allure of conversation on his classes.

She would tutor him whether he liked it or not. It was a fact she had made clear the moment they stepped out of the Forbidden Forest. She wouldn't have him defenceless. However, she was also committed to installing some new brain cells and much-needed discipline in the child before she started pushing him past the curriculum. Malfoy Senior had yet to contact her in regards to his son, which was a sure sign that he was running background checks. While she was certain he wouldn't find anything, she still couldn't quell her unease.

Regardless of her mind's turmoil, the day proceeded as it usually did with Herbology, Transfiguration and Defense Against the Dark Arts. She caught a few acid glares from jealous Slytherins that put a further damper on her mood, but it was otherwise tolerable. Quirrell wasn't even that bad. The dingy Professor had begun to rub off on her. His invested interest in her future studies left her little to complain about in class as he never failed to supply extra reading material to her. It was nice in a mildly disturbing way. At least he wasn't trying to murder her.

She spent that lunchtime with the Slytherin first years. Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, Theodore Nott and Pansy Parkinson had been the first that Draco had introduced her to. Nott was the closest to Draco and, unsurprisingly, the son of one of Lord Voldemort's earliest followers. The group was unofficially dubbed the Death eater spawn club. There were four other persons of interest in his year level that Draco had pointed out: Blaise Zabini, Millicent Bulstrode, Tracey Davis and Daphne Greengrass. He confessed that he did not have the most accurate grasp of their characters, and what he did know was limited. Bulstrode was a vocal blood-purist while the latter two were staunch neutrals, Davis being a half-blood and the Greengrass family basically leading the frontier in parliament. Zabini and Draco got along best out of the group despite the dark-skinned boys more reclusive personality. All in all, it was an impressive list of possible allies. Draco preened under her praise of his scouting abilities.

…

**Notification: You completed a ritual!**

Reward: Magical power increased by 50% (duration: 7 days)

Alana really should have been paying more attention to the date. The saying 'ignorance is bliss' had never applied to her more than it did that moment as she stumbled down the castle corridors. She was, much to her enthusiasm, absolutely drunk. A Samhain ritual mixed with a pint of fire whiskey turned out to be a recipe for disaster. Had she known alcohol and a sharp influx of magic didn't mix, she would have saved the drink for later. As it was, whatever alcohol tolerance she had built up was useless against the concoction in her stomach.

While intoxicated, she was lucid enough to realise that she was in no state to join the Halloween feast. Truthfully, she was in no condition to be touring the castle either, but the common room had felt suffocating with its lack of life. There were, of course, a few other students in a similar state; those not quite used to the magic overload that came with performing magical rituals. She had spied a blue-haired Hufflepuff smoking gillyweed a few corridors before.

Swaying on her feet, the fourth year made her way past several paintings with an unnaturally bright smile adorning her features. The floors looked all sparkly, and the walls were swirling panels of psychedelic colour. It was all extremely amusing to the girl.

What was even funnier was the screaming.

The sound echoed down the hallway and was closely followed by the shattering of unknown objects.

"Fufufu." Alana's black hair fell into her face as she laughed. Looking like the vindictive victim of a drowning, she stumbled toward the disturbance. She reached the cavernous door to the girl's bathroom and peered in curiously. The action itself disorientated her slightly and caused her to fall forward against the wooden door with a thump. A giggle left her parted, parched lips as she righted herself.

Amused, she noticed that the door had been torn off its hinges. It was skewed sideways and barely clinging to the frame. She delicately sniffed the wood before poking her tongue out to lick it. Oak. Her nose wrinkled, finally processing the pungent smell of faeces, piss and earth that saturated the room. Her eyes turned to make out the towering figure of a magical beast.

It was a humanoid creature with mottled blue skin and boulder-like calves. Lumps of flesh indicated its torso where a bulging stomach proudly displayed itself. Oversized ears extended from a small head inside which two eyeballs rolled listlessly. It was a mountain troll. A smaller breed, she noted apathetically as it swung its club down onto another bathroom stall.

Alana winced at the loud noise and rubbed her temples. Her head was ringing with the piercing volume. The pain only increased at the addition of a female scream. A bushy-haired witch tumbled out from a bathroom stall, and she squinted in distaste at the shrill sound the female emitted. It had sounded better from the hallway.

Suddenly, she wasn't so alone in the corridor. Two bodies collided into her as they turned into the doorway. She didn't budge despite the force of the collision and slowly turned her gaze towards the young boys sprawled on the hard floor.

"What did you do to her! Where's Hermione!" The red-haired first-year all but screamed at Alana with a brandished index finger. Internally, she moaned at the noise. Externally, she indicated the violent scene behind her where the witch - who she assumed to be Hermione - was ducking the blind swings of the troll.

"Hermione!" The Boy-Who-Lived looked suitably traumatised with large, round eyes taking in the scene. "We've got to help her," He said, turning to the red-head beside him but not before giving the fourth-year a pleading glance.

"Hmmn." Alana's vision had blurred some with the onslaught of sound. However, she still had the clarity of sense to find her wand. The length of Sycamore warmed in her had, seeming to know precisely what she wanted to do. She had a quest.

It was a simple spell that she felt no shame in plagiarising from a certain book series in her inebriated state. With a quick mutter, she turned the shattered toilet remains into butterflies. The troll froze to watch the insects flutter, and his monstrous grip loosened just enough for her to rip the club off him with a dreamy, "Wingardium leviosa." She giggled slightly as she knocked the troll out. The creature moaned pitifully as its eyes drooped shut. Trolls were rather lacking in intelligence, she decided. Just as she prepared to beat it to death with the club, a squirrel hit her in the chest effectively breaking her admittedly fragile concentration. She glanced down at the mop of brown fur. Two brown eyes eventually emerged from the mass.

"Thank you," The squirrel-witch murmured as she burrowed further into Alana's finely pressed robes. The fourth-year shifted uncomfortably in an attempt to dislodge the small animal. Hermione didn't seem to get the hint and snuggled closer to the criminal. She was strangely affectionate for a girl who just escaped death by club. Alana patted the girl's head awkwardly and looked around for an excuse to leave. The two boys looked away from her when she turned to them. Neither wanted to exchange places with the human pillow. The older girl was left to grumble darkly.

"And what exactly is going on here?" The sharp and stern voice of Professor McGonagall broke the scene.

Alana half-twisted to face the Deputy Headmistress. Her face was as calm as a lake despite the hint of whiskey on her breath.

"Miss Vincent," The woman's eyebrows arched in surprise, "May I ask why you are not with your housemates?" The older witch's inquiry was echoed by Professor Snape's scowl and Professor Sprout's concerned frown. Professor Quirrell looked innocently fearful with his horror-filled eyes darting between the troll and the group of students.

"I didn't attend the feast, Ms McGonagall. I didn't feel particularly inclined to stuff myself with candy on a day which honours the dead, so I opted for a stroll down the corridors. Didn't exactly expect to bump into a mountain troll," She replied slowly. Her head still felt like it was throbbing with all the racket. Quirrell and Snape gave her a quick glance at her impaired speech, but she couldn't speculate what they made of it.

"It was my fault!" Hermione interrupted before the woman could berate her properly. "I went looking for the troll because I - I thought I could deal with it on my own - you know, because I've read all about them." The girl ducked her head in shame, both at the lie and at the knowing look the Professor gave her.

Ms McGonagall gave the group a thorough lecture on the proper response to dangerous situations. Snape took some points only to have them returned by the woman not a second later. They were let off with a warning and a stern order to sleep by Ms McGonagall who seemed to have caught on to Alana's inebriated state - not that it was difficult to notice what with her swaying on her feet. The woman escorted Hermione to the school nurse, Madam Pomfrey, while the others headed to their dorms.

Alana barely caught herself in time to avoid Leoen who was pacing up and down the corridor leading Ravenclaw Tower.

"Alana!" The boy exclaimed, his onyx eyes scanning her for injury. "Where were you? No one could find you in the dorm. Don't you know there's a troll around? I'm sure you could handle the stupid creature but what if a teacher caught you wandering about?" His diatribe was broken as he neared her. He inhaled deeply and narrowed his eyes. Alana squirmed uncomfortably. "Are you drunk?" His tone was wrought with disbelief.

"... No."

"You hesitated."

"No, I didn't… You're imagining things."

Leoen gave her a blank stare. Sidestepping him, Alana darted into the common room to escape his suspicion. In her mind, she congratulated herself on her superb acting skills. She truly was amazing. Caught up in her gloriousness, she barely noticed her hair turning pink and then green as she crossed the common room. She did, however, hex the caster of the colour-changing spell when they proceeded to cheer their accomplishment in an obnoxiously loud manner.

**1991 November**

Alana woke up to a dry mouth, a throbbing headache and an owl screeching in her ear.

"Silence, slave!" She hollered. Her pillow met its target and knocked the feathered bastard from his perch. The bird squawked indignantly before swooping towards her bed and tearing the blankets off her curled form with sharp talons. While Alana seethed, Auxilium made himself comfortable on top of a nearby bookshelf.

With gritted teeth, the young witch rustled through her potions supplies for a headache reliever. She grumpily muttered the counterspell for the startling shade of orange that had, at some time unknown to her, settled in her hair. When she had finally made herself presentable, she stalked downstairs. She had slept in - a rare event. With a few final grumbles, she organised her occlumency shields and entered the great hall.

She was immediately assaulted by a doe-eyed muggle-born who wrapped herself around the first available limb she saw. Contempt flashed across her face for a brief second before she managed to remove the girl. She was not in the mood for touchy-feely.

"I am not fond of physical contact," She informed the girl after seeing her hurt expression. She sighed. This was exactly why she hadn't wished to attend Hogwarts. Some of the children, the first years especially, were too emotionally fragile for her to handle. The witch, Hermione as she finally introduced herself, was all too eager to indenture herself to her perceived saviour. She noted with no small ounce of discomfort that both Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley were hovering behind the brunette. Whatever plans she had initially formed to distance herself from the trio seemed redundant now. Eyeing the witch, she considered the possibility of getting the girl to dissociate with her. It was possible, surely, but it would be difficult.

Her eyes briefly caught Draco giving her eye signals from across the hall, and she suppressed an irritated growl. Her magic simmered beneath its restraints, unsatisfied with the lack of activity. It would be easier to mentor the Malfoy heir if he wasn't constantly trying for fisticuffs with the golden trio. She grimaced internally at what her train of thought was suggesting. The thought sickened her for a few seconds before she brandished a kind, if polite, smile at the group of Gryffindors. It was a smile that said 'I am open to friendship' in the eyes of the youngsters, and 'I am prepared to offer an alliance' to the openly observing Slytherins and Ravens.

Terrence Bagnold had to restrain himself when the fourth-year was approached by not one, but three Gryffindor first-years in the great hall. He had a vague idea of the raven's identity, of course, he wouldn't have targeted her if he wasn't confident of her lack of political standing in Britain. Lord Malfoy had made no move to vouch for her, so he had assumed himself to be doing the man a favour by attempting to humiliate the nobody who had wormed her way into his son's graces. After the events in the forbidden forest, any proof of her incapability would give the Lord a viable excuse to revoke the privilege of being his heir's mentor. As long as the person implicated in such humiliation wasn't him…

The situation was unexpected, and as much as he loathed changes in his plans, he would adapt accordingly. He watched tensely as the Boy-Who-Lived introduced himself to Vincent as Harry. It was easy to notice that the boy wasn't aware of the implications of offering a first name. The look on his face was too obviously naive for his intentions to be misconstrued. Had Terrence been any less experienced in navigating first-year students, he would have felt nauseous at the display. An alliance was on the horizon and neutral house or not, he would be a fool not to reap its rewards.


	33. 31) Jinxed

**1991 November**

"Why do they call it Charms?"

The question came from a hesitant yet curious Harry Potter who had, at the insistence of Hermione, joined Alana's study group in the library. Charlotte was the one to answer the question this time, unlike the several previous queries that Alana had replied to. It was all done in a valiant effort to make the first-years more comfortable with the older group.

"Charms class teaches spells that make everyday objects do something that they otherwise wouldn't. Historically, it was taught to only witches and not wizards. They used to think only females had the ability to 'charm' objects into doing what they wished, hence the name."

Lola laughed at her friend's explanation while Alana smiled fondly. Potter for his part looked torn between disbelief and amusement while the youngest male Weasley had long since settled on laughing in response. Fearful of the red-heads noise bothering Madam Pince, Hermione elbowed the boy in an attempt to shut him up. When that didn't work, she sent a silencing spell in his direction.

"They might have been on to something," Alana said teasingly as she glanced toward Leoen who flushed pink at her implication.

"I'm not that bad at Charms," He defended himself. He didn't sound all too confident, and Alana felt her lips quirk into a sly smile.

"Of course not, or that would make me a horrible teacher," She grinned.

"Merlin forbid you be anything less than perfect," Charlotte jabbed.

"Has Ling Ling done her 40 hours?" Leoen smirked as he made the inside joke.

The three Gryffindors had assimilated into the group as easily as the Slytherins with the four's easy conversation and banter. It was a novel experience for all three of them with their backgrounds. Hermione Granger was glad to have found some friendly people willing to discuss academics with her without being condescending or easily offended. Ronald Weasley, or Ron as he insisted he be called, would have preferred Gryffindor company and a setting other than the library but wasn't about to complain with how happy his new friends were. Harry Potter was on cloud nine. He had been hesitant to befriend Alana but soon warmed up to the witch's personality. Her friends were similarly easy to get along with and just as willing to answer any questions he had on the wizarding world, regardless of how stupid they must have seemed to them. He was enjoying himself so much that he almost forgot about Professor Snape and the upcoming first quidditch match of the season. Almost.

**1991 November**

He was not jealous.

Draco Malfoy did not get jealous, he got what he wanted.

The blond in question continued his daily morning ritual of critiquing his appearance in the mirror. He had several matters to attend to that day. First and foremost was breaking his fast with Theo. Theodore Nott Jr. would no doubt want to discuss the trade deals being brokered with Spain, and then he would have to allow Miss Tracey Davis to join the conversation. It shouldn't be too difficult considering the half-blood's family had strong relations with the vampire covens doing business in those areas. Or so rumour said. His father was, unfortunately, not as sparing towards his heir with information as he was with money.

On the topic of his father... Draco's eyes shuttered close. He didn't know how to deal with the main issue of the day.

Alana Vincent.

The situation really needed no further elaboration than the name. The witch was something else entirely. He wanted her as his mentor. Desperately. The hastiness of his public declaration was foolish, he knew, but he did not regret the decision itself. She had criticised it, but he just knew that she would be perfect for the position so long as she was willing. He could already see her resemblance to his mother in the way she controlled a conversation and his father every time she attacked an opponent with barbed comments. It also hadn't escaped his notice how the younger students seemed to gravitate towards her whenever she gave them attention. He had already seen several vying for her favour with requests for homework help. None of the Slytherins was obvious about their interest in her, but that only meant they were wary of her. The Slytherin seniors had a betting pool on who would take on Terrence Bagnold's position once he graduated that year and it was no surprise to see the girl's name up there. Her interactions thus far had left a strong impression on the group.

His father rarely spoke of his incarcerated colleagues, but he recalled with exceptional clarity one particular incident where he had.

He had spoken of the moment of his first introduction to Rudolphus Lestrange, of the silver tongue and acid replies that had left him in awe of the man for some time. They had become friends, brothers in arms and then brothers-in-law. 'There are times when you instinctively know an invaluable ally,' his father had said. Draco was sure that he had encountered such a person when he shook Alana's hand.

While he was certain she wouldn't stab him in the back, he had not expected her advances towards an alliance with Potter to be so bloody irritating. He was not jealous! He was just concerned! Potter had had everything given to him on a golden platter since entering the school. He was practically raised with a golden spoon in his mouth, and there was no doubt in his mind that the half-blood was enjoying his continued celebrity treatment at Hogwarts. Draco had some faith that Alana wouldn't be blinded by the boy's fortune and fame, but one could never be too sure of these things. He had asked Nott to keep an eye on the two for extra insurance.

Draco had tutoring with the witch after class - her lunchtimes having been taken up by her own followers and the golden trio if what Nott had seen was correct. He scowled at the thought of the younger Weasley and big-mouthed mudblood. He'd have to talk to Alana about her choice of company in the future.

**1991 November**

Auxilium glared at the obnoxiously large eagle. From his perch, the owl watched as the intruder offered its burden to his young mistress.

Alana eyed the vicious-looking beak of the golden bird warily before carefully removing the letter it carried. Its curved talons were mercilessly digging into the frame of her bedroom window. It would surely leave marks behind. The avian creature gave the pair a condescending nod of approval before exiting with a sweep of its massive wings.

"Two guesses as to who owns him," Alana commented wryly.

Auxilium seemed to share her opinion of the raptor and turned his tail feathers in the direction the bird had gone. It was the most civil gesture she had seen from her owl since purchasing him. A common enemy could truly unify a warring nation.

Alana traced the swirling calligraphy that indicated the intended recipient of the delivery and congratulated herself for having the forethought to put on her gloves. She had received two similar envelopes that day. Both sat innocently on her desk, along with a third, less remarkable letter. She had yet to open any of them, but she had an idea of the contents. Finally summoning her courage, she decided to start with the plain one.

It was… unusual. The letter was not from anyone she knew but rather a concerned mother. It was an invitation to luncheon from Mrs Molly Weasley. It seemed that Percy Weasley had mentioned her being his sparring partner one time too many and the woman had become suspicious of her. She wondered if Percy knew of his mother's plans and decided that he probably wouldn't have been able to look her in the eyes if he had. From what she knew of the fifth year, he was prone to secondhand embarrassment where his family was concerned. The second letter was a more pleasant surprise. She received an invitation to a surprise birthday party Charlotte Winters' parents were throwing for her. It was a small, informal gathering of close friends the letter said.

The third and fourth envelopes were the ones she had been half expecting and fully dreading. The Yule holiday lasted two weeks starting four days prior to December 22, the day of the winter solstice. For pureblood Hogwarts students especially, the week following the solstice was the most significant period of the year. It was the first week of the wizarding social season to coincide with the school holidays allowing hopefuls to attend the celebrations.

The social season was divided into four one-week periods, each following one Wiccan Sabbat. The year began with Mabon (the fall equinox) followed by Yule (the winter solstice), Ostara (the spring equinox) and then Litha (the summer solstice). The Malfoy's traditionally started the Yule celebrations with the largest event of the year while the Greengrass' ended it. Smaller, more exclusive gatherings would be held in the time in between. The other weeks followed a similar structure.

With her sudden rise in popularity, it was little surprise that the upper echelons of society had begun to express their unavoidable curiosity. Unfortunately, the lack of surprise didn't make the invitations any easier to bear. Alana shivered involuntarily. She wasn't sure she would be comfortable sharing verbal daggers with people who may have employed her in the past. Talking with adolescents and talking with experienced politicians were two vastly different things. With both Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter running circles around her, however, she had little choice.

The less intimidating invitation to the Greengrass Yule Ball was opened first. A cream coloured card with a gold laurel leaf border indicated the theme of the event: Greek mythos. 'An easy enough theme to dress to', she thought with a sigh of relief.

That was undoubtedly the other cause of her apprehension: she hated dresses, and they were the expected formal wear. She was a very practical clothes shopper, and the idea of not wearing enough leather and black to slit a throat if needed put her on edge. While she supposed a flimsy ball gown could very well be a lethal weapon in the hands of a seductress like Lilith Bathery, she had no skills in that area. She almost wished she could summon the half-veela to do her shopping for her, but there was no doubt in her mind that the results would be disastrous.

The final envelope dropped by the eagle was opened after she had once again checked for any unfriendly spells. The Malfoy Yule Ball invitation fell innocently onto the desk followed by a second letter of address. The icy white branches stretching across the blue card showed the woodland winter theme of the event while the second letter - ominously handwritten - requested her presence at Malfoy manor for tea two days before the Ball. She let out a soft exhale as her fingers took up a steady drum on the table. The letter was formal, to the point and distant despite being clearly hand-written. The Malfoy crest pressed into the red wax on the letter glared mockingly at her.

'What makes you think you are good enough for a Malfoy?' It seemed to say. 'I have enough influence to tear your precious world down around you.'

It would take more than impressing Lucius Malfoy to have him back down. He was the type to destroy a person if he considered them weak. She would fight with everything she had. She only hoped it would be enough.

**1991 November**

The first Quidditch match of the season began that morning.

Harry, much to Alana's displeasure, had been a nervous wreck for the entire week. She'd been forced to hunt down the kitchen elves just so she could shove some nutrients down his throat when he missed the evening feast the night before. While she was doing this, he attempted to tell her about Professor Snape's suspicious activities. She was sorely tempted to tell him that the Professor's limp didn't say anything about his character. None of the group mentioned the most likely cause of the injury, the Cerberus guarding the chamber to the Philosopher's stone. She wasn't going to ask about it either despite knowing the three had encountered it while trying to evade the castle caretaker, Argus Filch. Regardless of their suspicions regarding the stone, changing her plans for them was out of the question. She wouldn't set foot in the third corridor until after Yule break.

Alana took her seat in the stands of Slytherin, receiving a few glares in the process. She knew her relationship with the house was tenuous at best. Having taken up an alliance with the Gryffindor mascot was reason enough for a large portion of the snakes to hiss as she walked by. Lucian and his clique hadn't scorned her for the decision, but she knew it was only a matter of time before they felt pressured to by the more influential members of the house. Unless Malfoy Sr. made his stance known, the tension in the air would remain.

Draco had a scowl etched into his face as he scrutinised the game. He was naturally displeased that Potter had been allowed on the team as a first-year. It was favouritism at its finest. Alana had to agree with his assessment. She took her seat beside the young blond with practised elegance, and his attention swivelled at her entrance.

"Good morning, Draco." She greeted him. It was about half-past 11 on the Quidditch field, and the game had already begun. Draco nodded in return before returning to the game with noticeably less irritation. He was noting his house's usual plays for later use no doubt. She watched as Harry's first attempt to catch the Golden Snitch, a small, winged ball, was blotched by the Slytherin Seeker. She really didn't see the appeal of a game where one player could win half of their team's points. If asked, she would deny her distaste had anything to do with the fact that teams were attempting to knock each other off of debatably stable brooms with leather balls while flying fifty feet up in the air. Merlin, she hated brooms.

Her fingers had begun to drum themselves on her leg out of boredom when Harry's broom began to buck wildly. It was comical in a horrifying way. He was clinging onto the broom for dear life as it tried to unseat him. The two Weasley twins were hovering beside him, trying and failing to play the game while helping him at the same time.

"Hurling Hex most likely," She commented lightly from the stands. Draco looked like his birthday had come early whilst Theodore Nott Jr., who was sitting on his other side, looked torn between amusement and consternation. Alana glanced about the stands to see other Slytherins watching with bated breath as Potter gripped his broom tightly. She saw one with their hands clasped together praying that Lady Magic would let him be irreparably injured. The Gryffindor stands were in chaos, and she was sure the Ravenclaws were squirming in their seats uncomfortably.

She wanted to move, to do something to help the boy, but she chose to sit still and wait. Running off would be an embarrassment in front of the Slytherins, more so as she was in Draco's company. It would also be an insult to her title as his mentor. Besides, she wasn't anybody's saviour. She had no obligation to put her wellbeing and reputation on the line for the kid. She could offer him shelter, knowledge, acceptance, and maybe even the odd bit of wisdom, but she wasn't going to hold his hand through every struggle. She couldn't afford to take such chances unless she wished to end up in Azkaban. She idly wondered what Raymond would have thought if he knew she'd even considered helping. The thought kept her sober.

While Alana's resolve solidified, Hermione scanned the stands to find the source of Harry's troubles. She quickly noticed that Professor Snape was unblinkingly staring at the boy's broom and muttering under his breath. She was reluctant to even humour the possibility, but even she could see that he was the most likely caster of the jinx. Only an adult could pull off that level of spellwork, and Snape's vendetta against Harry was legendary. She bit her lip nervously, but her eyes narrowed with purpose. Taking advantage of everyone's focus on Harry, she raced across the stands and crept below the man's seat. Her wand lit with a flame, and she winced as she set the Professor's robes on fire. She prayed to whatever omnipotent being that existed she wouldn't get detention for the act.

Snape cursed as his concentration and eye contact was broken by the smell of burning fabric. His counter-curse was thrown back in his face, and he winced at the force of it. His nostrils flared with barely restrained anger at the flames eating their way up his robes. He knew he should have worn his flame-retardant clothes that morning. The flames increased in heat as though sensing his thoughts and he belatedly realised that the flames were magical with their unnatural colouring. He stumbled backwards in an attempt to escape the fire and succeeded in knocking the snivelling Professor Quirrell to the ground before he managed to quench the flames. A sharp jab of his wand was all it took.

Up in the air, Harry was relieved to find himself regaining control over the blasted broom. A brief sense of humiliation washed over him at the horrid display he must have been before he shoved it down. He dove towards the ground. The wind whistled past his ears and combed his unruly locks back from his scarred forehead. He was calm. The rune sowilo, a lightning-shaped symbol engraved above his brow, was bared to the world. He had learnt from Alana that it was the rune of light, strength, power and the sun. As he neared the ground, he jerked his broom upwards. Flying was one of the few times he felt powerful. He felt in control.

Victory was lodged in his throat, and it made him feel sick to his stomach. To the utter disbelief of the crowd, he vomited as soon as he landed. There in his palm, innocent as the day it was made, lay the Golden Snitch.

With the match ending in the most chaotic way possible, Harry was more than happy to join Hagrid in his hut after the team celebration. Ron and Hermione were eager to join him. The three recounted their experiences during the game over a cup of pumpkin juice. He was disappointed when Hagrid refused to consider the possibility of Snape cursing his broom. The irate Professor hated his very soul and had made it abundantly clear that he enjoyed torturing him in class. He had been bitten by the Cerberus for Merlin's sake! The giant canine, Fluffy, had three heads. Surely, he was smart enough to recognise a bad character when he sniffed it. Unfortunately, Hagrid was firm in his belief and loyal to a fault. They were surprised to learn that the dog belonged to the large groundskeeper and that the object it was guarding (accessible by a trapdoor as Hermione had noticed) was a secret known only to Dumbledore and a man named Nicolas Flamel. Hagrid was not a good keeper of secrets.


	34. 32) Yuletide

**1991 December**

Melanie Zabini leaned against the large mahogany desk pensively. Her mind drifted back to the young woman who had been sitting across from her mere days ago. She had been a petit thing, all slender grace with not a sign of seductive curve, unlike herself. At thirty-four years old, the only female of the Zabini bloodline looked no older than twenty. She was blessed with gold, almond eyes that illuminated high cheekbones and dark, flawless skin. Her hair was a lively mass of chocolate curls that simultaneously bewildered and enticed the male species. Her lips were luscious roses that begged any passer-by for attention with a sly smile. She was sex on legs, the envy of Britain's social circles, the perfect woman. She was also in dire need of an assassin.

If it had not been for Otavio - sexy, talented, unfortunately celibate, and ever so helpful Otavio – the woman would not have even considered the deal she had been presented with. She wouldn't have believed a small child had the necessary contacts to accomplish the task she required. However, when she'd heard the name of the child's bonded, she couldn't help but revaluate the girl. Alana Vincent, Alana de Azrael by right of magic. The name held promise. The promise of freedom.

Otavio had long been a friend of the Zabini family. Ever since his bonding with her great grandfather, the vampire had provided counsel to the line of wand-users. She suspected that the rumours of vampire bonds being stronger than wizarding ones were true as the creature had no reason to continue to favour her bloodline with his presence, welcomed as it was. The woman allowed her eyelids to slide down as she envisioned the man in question. He truly was a marvellous being. With that thought, she slid off the desk and awaited her prey.

Mikhail Dawnrite was immensely amused to find his delicious wife perched on his desk when he entered the office of his Essex mansion. The vixen seemed quite content to lounge against the piece of wooden furniture, but he could sense her forcing her muscles to relax as he approached. He was inches away now, trapping her with arms on either side of her curvaceous form and gently admiring the curvature of her neck. She truly was beautiful. He chuckled. It was a warm sound that sent a pool of heat to the woman's lower regions despite her previous resolve.

"Something you needed, flower?" The man practically purred as he hovered over her. His head dipped to affectionately, if not teasingly, brush his lips along the length of her neck.

Malanie clenched her jaw at his words. She had asked him about the endearment a year ago in a rare moment of weakness and long since regretted the action. 'Because you look like the innocent flower despite being the serpent under it,' he had replied. She'd known at that moment that she'd gotten in over her head.

Mikhail was not her first husband, the previous six having died of various 'mysterious' illnesses. The protectiveness of her father and brothers was a notable factor although half had found their end at her own hands. This time, however, her family had approved of her choice. Mikhail was successful, polite, and went above and beyond for her only son, Blaise. He was also exceedingly intelligent, a trait she hadn't expected to backfire in her face quite so spectacularly when she had married him. He was her seventh husband and the influential head of the administrative branch of Britain's department of law enforcement. If the magically significant number seven hadn't been enough to deter her superstitious relatives from offing the man, his position would have.

He was an attractive man, she would admit, all dark features with sharp cheekbones. Not to mention that hair that just demanded to be stroked. She should have been happy under his doting. But she was not. His 'love' was suffocating. He humoured her when she spoke, and his condescending gaze was one she longed to burn from her memory. He was marvellous in bed, but she loathed his controlled dominance, his faked affection, his practised touch. Sex felt too much like a means to stroke his ego for her to gain any true pleasure from the carnal act. There was too much that went unsaid between the two of them and that scared her more than anything else. She hated being afraid.

She brushed her thoughts aside and forced an indulgent smile on her beautiful face.

"Is it a crime to greet my husband after such a long, lonely day." Her own purr lacked just as much innocence as his own growled response. He was, of course, aware of what she was doing. He would humour her though, just as he always did, and discover her motives in the afterglow of the next hours' activities.

**1991 December**

Alana had decided that she was going to die a horrible, violent, painful death. Between the steel-eyed blond and his older cousin, she wasn't sure who she was trying to fool when she'd told Marius she would avoid causing trouble that Yule.

"Why didn't you wear a cloak? It's freezing today." The sharp comment came from Lucian whose breath came out in clouds of fog as he pulled his clothing tighter around him. The streets branching off from Knockturn Alley were covered in a thin layer of snow that melted beneath their boots. The two boys had spared a moment of skittishness before entering the Alley, neither sure their parents would approve. Fortunately, Alana was there to guide their way.

While her uncloaked self hadn't the murderous reputation of her masked counterpart, she still did legal jobs unmasked and was thus considered a familiar member of the underground nation. She was acquainted with most frequent occupants of the taverns, so she had little scruple marching up the street with her head uncovered and her cloaked company trailing behind her. She recalled having helped the local mortician design coffins at some point. It was her small way of giving back to the community. It went unsaid that she found the thought of her filling her own coffins amusing. Morbid hobbies aside, no one bothered the trio of travellers unless to give the odd nod of greeting. It wasn't until they slid deeper into the shadows that the passerby's become more adventurous.

Such was the case when a white-eyed witch pinned the shortest of their group, Draco, to a wall. Not knowing the identity of the cowled child, the woman screeched an indecipherable demand. She was promptly slammed into the gravel by Alana who proceeded to jab her untraced wand into the woman's collarbone and knock her out. The body slumped in defeat. After establishing that Draco's hair had not been irreparably disturbed by the assault and that yes, he did look suitably authoritative, the group continued. There wasn't anything else particularly remarkable about the journey down twisting side streets except for the vampire they passed. The red-eyed woman had looked rather uncomfortable to be around children and was quick to scurry off.

Dawning on the edge of a dishevelled property, Alana tapped her wand thoughtfully against the wards before she entered. It was only polite to inform her host of their arrival after all. The door was unlocked, and she gestured the two boys to follow her lead. Down a staircase and through a series of temporarily disillusioned corridors, they found a barefoot woman bent dangerously close to a burning forge. The heat in the room tempted the other two males to discard their coats, but they refrained uneasily.

"Georgia Shephaestus," Alana introduced the woman. She looked to be in her mid-to-late twenties with large eyes the same colour of the fire in her forge. Her build was stocky with a shock of pink hair spiking up from her head. If one ignored her leather apron, they would find her dressed in a polka-dot shirt, sparkly trousers, and a blinding pair of neon boots. She was a sight to behold for the two aristocrats who had to blink to adjust to the brightness of her wardrobe. She made Dumbledore look like an amateur.

"Alana," The woman replied in a monotone that caused Lucian's jaw to drop from shock. Contrary to what her wardrobe would suggest, Georgia had a no-nonsense personality that would put Ms McGonagall to shame. "Where's the wand," The pinkette got straight to the point. She then looked pointedly at the cloaked boys. Alana quickly motioned for Draco to surrender his wand and for both to remove their cloaks. Splicers were illegal, so having the benefit of knowing their clientele's identity was something of a security measure for them. Alana had already sorted business with the woman at the Wyvern, so they didn't have to go through any paperwork hassle and were soon free to wander while the girl applied herself to her craft.

"Is she alright? Mentally I mean," Draco questioned as soon as they exited the building. Alana stifled a laugh.

"She's just as mentally stable as you are."

"Oh, okay. Wait a minute, what are you trying to say?!" Draco looked appropriately scandalized by her choice of words and continued to glare at her when she didn't answer.

"What now?" Lucien asked. She gave the boy an arched eyebrow as if the answer was obvious.

"Now, we wait."

**1991 December**

Still slick with sweat from the night activities, Melanie slid out from under her husband's silk sheets. The man was fortunately asleep, or he would have seen his wife hastily melt wax onto a piece of parchment and direct the ring adorning his finger to stamp its symbol of authority. Beneath the seal was an impressive forgery of Mikhail's signature made using a copy from his office as a reference. The woman silently set the paper under the large bed. She would meet with Otavio the next day to ensure the exchange went as promised.

The seal of Mikhail Dawnrite in exchange for the man's life.

**1991 December**

Georgia examined the wand through large brass spectacles. She could feel the unhindered magic thrumming through the tool despite the pair of skin-tight leather gloves she had donned. It was complete. She mentally added the wand to her list of successful trace removal procedures before placing it on her workbench. Removing the core from a wand was no easy feat and seamlessly reinserting the core once its intertwined trace had been removed was even harder. It was a shame she wasn't confident enough to remove the trace from Alana's sycamore mix. She could always appreciate a customer who appreciated that difficulty and Alana had been most generous in her proposed payment. The Malfoy child was paying for his wand, of course, but she doubted he had suggested the amount. The Malfoys were generous in public but certainly not in secret.

**1991 December**

Alana dressed for the occasion.

Her hair was pinned back in waves of black, her eyes outlined thinly with mascara, and her Sycamore wand holstered along her left arm. The wards of Malfoy manor would likely be strong enough to mask any magic performed with it from the ministry, though she hoped it wouldn't come to that. She'd opted for a hooded, long, navy blue wool coat that was belted at her waist. Underneath was a white dress shirt, some comfortable dress pants and her lucky pair of black boots – the ones without blood on them. It was a modest ensemble but timelessly elegant in the winter weather. It didn't help with her nerves in the least.

She met Draco in Diagon Alley after a quick settling of her accounts in Gringotts and the two flooed to his family manor.

The first person she met was Narcissa Malfoy. It was customary for the lady of the house to greet any guest, so it shouldn't have been a surprise. The woman observed her with sharp blue eyes that resembled shards of ice on her pale face. Her hair streamed down her back, the blonde standing out against her grey dress coat. A sliver of what might have been a polite smile lay on her face, obviously forced but appreciated nonetheless.

"Mother," Draco dipped his head politely. "This is my tutor Alana Vincent. Alana, please meet my mother, Narcissa Malfoy." To his credit, Draco displayed none of the nervousness he felt as he made the introductions.

"Well met, Lady Malfoy," Alana began as the one being introduced.

Narcissa's reply was a curt, "Well met, Miss Vincent."

Draco and Alana followed the woman as she led them into the estate's drawing-room meant for guests. It was a lovely powdered blue with gold and white accents. They were seated across from the lady of the house. The snap of a house-elf was heard before a tray of tea and biscuits appeared on the glass table. Suddenly glad to have researched etiquette in her first year, Alana sat quietly as Mrs Malfoy poured a cup for the young witch, Draco and then herself before offering them the beverages.

"I hope you have been well this Yule, Miss Vincent."

'And so the games begin.'

"Quite well, Lady Malfoy. May I hope your Yule has been just as pleasant."

"It had been most enjoyable. Draco, I trust you have finished your holiday assignments?"

"I have, mother," Draco replied with a smile at having finally been addressed by the host and allowed to speak. "I would not have gone out with Lucian to shop had I not." Draco had to resist the urge to smirk at the successful excuse he had used so the three could go and get his wand trace removed.

"Of course, and how have your holidays fared, Miss Vincent?"

"Quite well, Lady Malfoy. I had the pleasure of entertaining some clients just yesterday."

"Oh?" Lady Malfoy peered expectantly over the edge of her cup. Her posture was faultless and her demeanour a product of both experience and natural talent. In terms of pureblood etiquette and hosting, the woman had few rivals.

"Indeed. I had was introduced to Miss Zabini by a dear friend of mine. She was most endearing with her request. The details are, of course, between her and I." Alana mentally applauded herself as Mrs Malfoy's arm jolted before continuing its journey to liberate a pastry from its platter. She would have been sorely disappointed if the woman had not noticed the very intentional use of the title Miss rather than Mrs or Ms when Melanie Zabini was married. It was a situation that she intended to remedy soon.

Draco continued to devour the biscuit he had been eyeing for the past few minutes, clueless to the conversations change in direction. His appetite, which had been less than ideal due to anxiety over the meeting, had returned some.

"Of course." Mrs Malfoy replied stiffly. She was not one to jump to conclusions but based on her husband's lack of findings and the current conversation, she was forced to assume that the young witch was involved in less legal dealings. Most that Lucius did were, she would admit, but Draco was not privy to any of them. If her son's fondness for the girl worried her before, it terrified her now. She would not allow the woman before her to endanger her only son. It didn't matter in the least that Melanie was one of her few genuine friends, and she felt sympathy for the woman's disastrous marriages. She set her cup down. She wanted the witch as far away from Draco as possible, and she didn't care how it was done.

When the interrogation ended, Alana couldn't have been more relieved. She had noticed a slight increase in hostility from her host. It was troublesome; however, she wouldn't get anything out of the arrangement if she wasn't at least somewhat honest. She expected the Malfoy patriarch to insist on a very binding contract if he even considered the notion of allowing her as a mentor. Avoiding questions regarding her dealings – so long as the information didn't endanger her by being too direct – was not in her best interest.

Narcissa was as stiff as an ironing board as she guided them to her husband's study. The two waited outside as she went to inform her husband of their presence and, no doubt, what had transpired during tea.

"What did you do?" Draco finally asked. He was not so dim as to not notice his own mother's uneasiness.

"I insinuated something is all. It's not something that can be easily explained, Draco, but you may be enlightened somewhat today." Alana's pupils flicked to the boy who was giving her expectant eyes.

"Answers?"

"Something like that," She mused.

The two were finally granted entry.

"Draco, would you mind leaving us for a moment." Lord Malfoy cut off any attempt Draco would have made at an introduction.

There was a beat of silence before Draco cleared his throat. A shaky reply of "Yes, father," could be heard before he left. He cast an apologetic glance at Alana who merely gave him an amused smile knowing it would do more to quell his hidden worry.

"Sit." Malfoy Sr. indicated the seat across from his large oak desk. There was no attempt at faux politeness as, in his mind, it seemed they were past such charades. Alana took the seat impassively. If she noticed the strategic discomfort of the chair, she didn't voice it. Lucius Malfoy folded his hands together atop his desk and fixated her with a dissecting stare. There was no emotion in his cold grey eyes, so similar yet so different from his sons. Draco heavily resembled his father with the same pointed face and pale blond hair. "Are you aware of the punishment for fraud, Miss Vincent?"

Alana narrowed her eyes at his combativeness. "It depends. If the fraud is a matter of claiming a lordship, it would result in an Azkaban life sentence. Smaller crimes could end in a warning while others depend on the votes from the House of Lords."

"Laws can be made just as easily as they can be broken when you are a Malfoy. I do not take kindly to being taken for a fool, nor do I sympathise with those who wish to climb the social ladder." Lord Malfoy did not need to hiss the threat or even raise his voice for the weight in his words left no room for its recipients escape. Alana bit her tongue lightly to pull herself away from the discomfort that had settled in her stomach.

"I am aware, Lord Malfoy." Her words were dull blades in a gunfight. Her lips pressed into a thin line. She needed to breathe and relax if she was to get through the conversation. Her usual fire had been so easily snuffed out by the Lord's presence which caused the wards in the room to fluctuate as he spoke. While the effect was indeed terrifying, her response was one she found to be absolutely unacceptable. She braced her mental shields and envisioned herself in the middle of a calm lake. It was what she always did before making a shot with a gun. That was the best way to do it, she decided. She had prepared her ammunition; all she needed to do was pull the trigger.

"Under British wizarding law, I have in no way committed fraud. That the Ministry accepts identification papers from Gringotts which accepts muggle identification is hardly a fault of mine. I had no intention of misleading your son, but my circumstances were… less than favourable at the time." Her voice had regained some of its strength, she was glad to notice. She carefully withdrew the folder she had brought with her and placed it on the table.

Malfoy tapped his desk once with a black-gloved hand. His gaze rested on the offered folder for longer than she thought appropriate before he withdrew his wand. She was relieved to note that her stiffening was entirely unnecessary. He only waved the tool over the folder to check for harmful spells before setting it back in the cane that acted as its sheath. He picked up the file delicately without sparing the young witch a glance and opened it to examine its contents.

The first document was the Ministry's identification paper for Alana Vincent and the appropriate information regarding her person. He had already acquired that much from the Ministry, so he moved past it. There were several Gringotts official documents before anything caught his interest. The document was far from innocuous with the red seal and signature emblazoned on its lower right-hand corner. It was an acknowledgement of creature guardianship. His gaze flicked up, but the witch in question wasn't paying him any mind and instead appraising his study as though it were a particularly interesting animal – that is to say, she did so disinterestedly. He read on.

He was taking a while. Alana continued her perusal of his bookshelves. There was nothing particularly interesting about their contents except for an encyclopaedia on toads that she couldn't resist the urge to glare at. Foul creatures. The room was rather dull for all appearances. Bookcases lined the walls with a large window behind the man's desk showing the family's considerably large property. The lake outside looked far more interesting than the unremarkable room.

Lucius pulled out the few documents that had caused him to do a doubletake. The first was the permittance of guardianship to a man – vampire – named Marius Mardare, the second was a letter of recognition addressed to Alana de Azrael from Gringotts, and the third was an inquiry from the same establishment as to whether she would accept the holdings and lordship her… companion had bequeathed to her. He knew, of course, of the matter at hand. He had heard of the blood ties made between vampires and members of the wizarding community when the Old ways and oaths of blood were still held in high esteem. He had heard there had been a recent re-emergence of vampires in Britain but had not thought any of them would be inclined to create a bond in blood. He knew them to be exceedingly proud creatures, so the situation greatly perplexed him. Furthermore, vampires had not been seen in Britain in decades so to possess a lordship granted by the ministry, the one in question would have had to have been exceptionally old or significant, possibly even an elder.

"What was the nature of your relationship with this Azreal?" He inquired with masked interest.

"He was my confidant and perhaps, he would have been something more had he not died." Alana rested her chin on a fist with hooded eyes as she leaned on the armrest. The man had truly been something to her. "I haven't accepted his legacy yet. I am not inclined to having the Ministry wreak havoc to find out who lit up Azrael's coat of arms."

Lucius considered the girl's brazen attitude for a second before he focused on more significant subjects. The Ministry's house of parliament was home to some of the oldest magic in Britain. He doubted the girl had ever seen its hallowed halls, but she obviously knew how it functioned.

The oval-shaped amphitheatre had seats concentrically placed around its central area. Above the seating area, the wall displayed the coat of arms of every house represented in the House of Lords. Lordship seats were either inherited or appointed by the Minister of Magic and couldn't be removed without the death of all plausible heirs. The sacred 28, the last 'truly pureblood' families of Britain, had the longest-standing emblems on that wall and over the years, each had acquired the seats of lesser houses to add to their own either through the right of conquest, trade, or marriage. The number of seats held was indicated by glowing gems beneath each symbol.

As to the matter of the Azrael lordship – likely to be a minor one considering the man's species - the coat of arms would light when the inherited ring of lordship was accepted, and a request for representation would be sent. He was not familiar with the name Azrael or many vampires at all for that matter, but it seemed his house was of some notability to have been added to the parliament roster at some point. He would have to check the parliament records and hope they hadn't been lost. Lord Malfoy's eyes zeroed in on the witch who was watching him guardedly but with resolve. She was waiting, he knew.

"What is your intention with my son?" He realised why the question sounded strange in his head when it left his mouth and frowned. He intended to broker an engagement between house Malfoy and Parkinson for a seat in parliament and did not like the ideas his phrasing brought to mind at all.

"He named me his mentor in public. I intend to teach him as is my prerogative until such a time as he deems me unfit for such a duty." Alana met the man's eyes firmly. She hadn't asked for such a responsibility, but she had said that she would do it and she didn't intend to take back her words.

"There will be criticism if I endorse a youth taking such a role." A truth.

"Will there not be criticism no matter your choice?" Another truth.

"You have no political experience and little to offer my son except a single seat which I presume you won't take up until you are of age. This is the signature of Mikhail Dawnrite, is it not? There will be questions as to how a vampire was granted guardianship over a witch. Of course, a dead man cannot answer, but I could just as easily turn you over to the authorities. Your convoluted history is more than enough reason to refuse you as my son's mentor."

She slid another file on his desk. Like the other, he scanned the documents, though with more intensity this time. It was blackmail, for lack of better word. Not on him, of course. She was not so stupid as to threaten the man within his own home. It was a collection of information on all of his obvious political and business opponents as well as his less known ones.

"Refusing me would be quite the loss. I may lack your experience, but I am not without resources. There are very few in Britain who would willingly turn away my connections." She informed him as he flicked through yet another page. His eyes were sweeping the evidence impassively, but his grip was tightening. The information was valuable enough to cause any sane man to pause, and she knew it. "As well as losing a valuable source of information, it would not look good for any future business with the British and overseas vampire covens if you decided I was a loose end that needed trimming. Vampires are such… loyal creatures and Azrael was a much-beloved man."

"Is that a threat?" Lord Malfoy looked unaffected despite his racing mind. It was clear enough to him that if she could get this much information on his rivals and pinpoint them so exactly, she was serious in her investment in his son. If Draco hadn't already tied her to his cause, he would have been tempted to do the same though in a less public way. A skilled informant willing to pledge their services was an exceptionally rare thing to come by.

"It is encouragement. I told your son that I would give him my best, and I have no intention of being made a liar, Lord Malfoy." Her smile was coldblooded. She had absolutely no idea if Otavio or the triumvirate would even spare her a second thought because of her relationship with Azrael, but it certainly made a damn good threat. The older man clenched his jaw in response.

"There will be conditions," He bit out reluctantly.

"That is why I suggested a contract," She replied evenly.

"Promisso Cruento. I will not have my son unprotected," Lord Malfoy's staunch demand was met with silence.

It was quite the demand considering she had known the boy barely a year, but then again, so was making her a mentor. It was a blood oath usually made to avoid blood feuds between houses. It prevented any ill intent between blood as the name suggested. Neither house would be able to act against the other with malintent without facing a severe magical backlash. It was not something people went into blindly. Alana folded in thought, weighing the pros and cons as well as the probability of wanting to harm the Malfoy in the future. She could still hurt him with the intention of teaching him a much-needed lesson or saving him from further pain, but any actions malicious in nature would be punished. She despised limitations, but even she had to admit the oath was very much within Lord Malfoy's rights to demand. It was generous even, an oath of loyalty that protected both parties. She hoped it was a sign the man had formed some small amount of respect for her or at least her abilities.

"That would be acceptable," She finally replied even though both knew it was non-negotiable.

The man nodded.

"How much does he know?"

"Draco never asked about my guardian, so I did not say anything. He knows that I have resources but none of the specifics."

Lord Malfoy looked impossibly old as he leant back in his seat. The disappointment was clear on his features, but he was quick to wipe it away.

"My wife has coddled him far too much," He confided though there was no scorn in the tone. It was merely an observation.

"He has promise. I wouldn't have spared him my time if he did not. He merely lacks experience." The criticism sounded hypocritical coming from her and her lips lifted into a sly smile at the thought. "I may not parley with politicians, but I dare say I have dealt with worse."

"The Ravenclaw position of King will be vacant next year," His steel gaze fell on her, "I expect it to be taken by you." The position would offer some of the political clout she clearly needed. The question of skill in occlumency seemed to have an obvious answer with her chosen vocation, so he left it unsaid. He winced internally before continuing. "Narcissa will have you taught the intricacies of hosting." The memory of his wife's strong opinion of the young witch left him certain that she would make her fury over his decision known that evening. "Your performance at this Yule Ball will determine what you lack. Let it be known that should you embarrass the Malfoy name-"

"Should I prove to be an embarrassment, I will do the job for you." Alana's eyes were dead serious as she voiced the words. If she proved inadequate, he would likely kill her if she didn't find a way of faking her death. If she failed, she would be forced to go into hiding to escape the Ministry and Malfoy. She'd already run away once; she didn't want to do it again.

A few more threats were passed before the two had settled on the basic requirements of the contract. It had quickly become clear that Alana would not be able to play the usual role a mentor took while she was so young. She had, however, three years on his son to climb the ministry social ladder before he graduated, and her presence was mandatory. Such a feat wasn't feasible in his mind, but he still had some hope. Should she fail, while he wouldn't be able to act against the youth with Promisso Crueto binding his bloodline, she was in an inherently dangerous position as an informant. The likelihood of her surviving her own line of work was already slim enough to offer him some comfort. If all else failed, he was sure someone else would do the deed in order to gain her title. Malfoy would be obligated to take a blood feud against whoever tried to do such a thing, but if they succeeded and didn't make it public, he wasn't particularly inclined to investigate the matter. His features were a blank mask as the contract was drawn up and signed. It was finely written such that it would protect his interests and her assets.

Draco was finally granted entry, the blond tottered in nervously with his back straighter than a ruler and his chin jutting out stubbornly. His first words were, "Have you agreed yet?"

Alana laughed. She couldn't help it. After the tenseness of the past hour, she was once again reminded of why she was going to all this trouble. She enjoyed Hogwarts, the company of her newfound friends, the knowledge that was always three steps away, and even the small blond in his false bravado and naivete.


	35. 33) Lower Your Expectations

"You look ravishing, mon petit chaton."

The seventy something-year-old vampire-wizard leaned over to his shorter companion with hungry eyes. His maroon-lined masked did little to hide the less than innocent look in his eyes as they undressed her with amusement.

"Why do I put up with you?" Alana let out a breath as the brown-haired deviant continue to examine her in the manner a starving man would eye a meat roast - or a sack of blood.

"Come now, love. Don't look so put out. You were the one who promised me a favour if I supplied your potions." Charon's voice crooned in a honeyed voice. She felt it entirely unfair to the human species that the blood-drinker had the eternal youth of a Greek turned at twenty-eight. Was it not enough that the man had retained his human charms, his wizard magic, and his appetite for physical activities? He was probably a walking STD at this point.

"I thought I'd be killing someone, not accompanying you to a bloody party. At Yule no less! You could have at least given me more than a four-hour warning!" She hissed at the male as she shoved his obnoxiously attractive face out of her periphery. His chiselled features fell into a petulant pout at her reluctance.

"It's hardly my fault my intended partner had a heart attack while doing the horizontal tango. Veela these days! No stamina whatsoever." He sniffed in disdain before smoothing his tailored suit into submission.

Alana begrudgingly admitted she could have worse things to look at while being dragged into a den of vampires and their unsuspecting human business partners. Charon Beaulieu was a stunning specimen of manhood even if he was her least favourite client to deal with. He was eccentric, even by her standards, with a habit of requesting the strangest payments for his services. Fortunately for him, he was an incredibly skilled potions master, and she was not an omnipotent potions mistress. She needed him to do what she couldn't, which was admittedly a lot considering the breadth of the potion-making field. If rumours were correct, he was just as shady as her as well with fingers in the metaphorical pies of both the human and the magical drug trade. Didn't make him any less of an arse.

"Perhaps, I should stop underestimating my own prowess in bed and find a more robust partner. Is it not convenient that I shall be surrounded by robust partners aplenty this evening? I hear Camille will be here as well," The man giggled conspiratorially. "I'll be damned if I don't get a peek at those divine legs at least once before the night's end." She thought she saw drool at the edge of his mouth, but it might have just been a bit of venom.

"Better not let her hear you say that or she'll remove all three of your legs," Alana smiled peacefully at the image her words invoked. She supposed that the night wouldn't be an entire waste. It would, at the very least, be excellent practice for the Malfoy Yule ball. Charon shivered slightly before brushing off the hit-witch's comment.

"I see you have found your sense of humour again, Alana. Shall we go then?" Alana rested her hand on the man's offered arm and grinned beneath her own matching mask. It was a grin that promised both death and chaos on the beholder.

Alana Vincent. It was a name known only amongst those few she had worked legally for in Britain and those who she had under contracted silence. Charon was, regretfully, one of the latter. Using the name in Spain was a careful decision on her part. There had been safety in using only Sparrow's identity and keeping her registered name anonymous. Unfortunately, no safety net could last forever. If she wanted to survive Britain's political field, she would either need to be too valuable to lose or too dangerous to threaten. A nobody could only climb so far in the political ladder on their own merit. As Lilith would say, 'It's never what you know that limits you, it's who you know.'

"By the way, where did you get my sizes for the dress?" She asked absentmindedly. She was mildly appreciative of the maroon colouring and lack of daring cut-lines she had thought he would be eager to add. Perhaps, he had finally realised she was fifteen and had zero curves to showcase. Ha! In what universe would such a thing be possible?

"Your Aunt offered them. Lovely woman Lilith."

And there went any hope of her ever feeling comfortable in a dress again.

As it was, the party wasn't anything unusual for the vampire community. The Alvarez twins were known for their excessive spending and spontaneous parties. As Charon had explained, they were the Marie Antoinette's of the upper echelons of vampire society – hated by the elder, conservative leaders but blissfully exploited by the younger, wealthy entrepreneurs. The twins knew everyone who was anyone and received certain privileges with their maintenance of a social network that didn't rely on every other vampire throwing parties once a month. Lazy but efficient.

Charon was not a negligent guest and made a beeline for the hosts straight after entering. The two vampires were naturally surrounded by their clique of admirers. They were lovely creatures, related certainly, but it was evident they were not identical twins. The taller of the pair was a sharp-eyed young woman with a blond bob cut and sharp features. The second was her brown-haired brother with a softer but no less attentive gaze directed towards their guests. Both of their faces broke into matching grins when they saw Charon.

"Bienvenidos*, Charon!" The brother was quick to draw Charon into a friendly hug. "Who is your young friend?"

(Bienvenidos * Welcome)

Alana went into cardiac arrest as she was kissed on either cheek by the vampire. He was very… friendly. As soon as the shock had worn off, she found herself faced with the curious eyes of both vampires and humans.

"¿Cómo te llamas?*" The words came out in rapid Spanish, and Alana found her bearings just long enough to don a more comfortable smile.

(¿Cómo te llamas? * What is your name?)

"Alana Vincent. Encantada de conocerle*," She responded. She was inwardly relieved when the man's eyes lit up in pleasure. She was never completely sure whether she was about butcher a foreign language or not. The man, Francisco, as he soon introduced himself, had an unusually noticeable soft spot for Charon. His sister, Maria, also shared his enthusiasm towards the younger (despite his older appearance) male. She couldn't decipher the possible reasoning behind their apparent fascination with him. The only logical conclusion she could find was that they were insane.

(Encantada de conocerle * Pleased to meet you)

Charon conversed with the siblings for the next half hour while Alana mentally counted the nearest possible exits to make herself more comfortable. Just as she reached number twenty, an unsuspecting window with a nearby chair prime for smashing glass, she was invited to dance by a nearby courtier. For once, she was glad for Marius' insistence that only uncultured swine had difficulty following a pattern of steps. Had he not been such a prick about it, she wouldn't be so proficient at ballroom dancing. She couldn't say the same for her partner, a human man who lacked both the speed and grace of her usual partner. It was fortunate that she was able to make up for the man's ineptitude. It also helped that Charon cut in before she gave in to the urge to use the man's fibula to smash the window instead of the chair.

"Having fun?" The man asked with a cheerful smile. Her faux smile was immediately ruined as she glared daggers into his head.

"Yes, watching you talk is so entertaining." Her words dripped with sarcasm. Charon had the good sense to look sorry as he sped up the dance's pace.

"Do you not like the sound of my voice?" He pouted.

"Nowhere near as much as you do, Charon."

"Ah! So cruel! That hurts me right here, you know," He patted his chest where his heart would be then made a face of horror. He patted himself searchingly with wide, terrified eyes. "Oh! I almost forgot… My heart doesn't actually work," He finished with a shrug.

"Har, har, har. Very funny."

"All jokes aside, I'll introduce you to some more people if you want some entertainment, but the real party doesn't begin until the after-party."

Alana groaned. "You said it finishes at 10 pm. I do actually have a life, you know, people to see, things to do, portkeys to operate."

"And here I was hoping you'd be up for some more nocturnal activities. Camille didn't even turn up to the preparty. Such a disappointment," The man sighed wistfully.

"I'm sure your dead heart can take it."

"At least consider it. You'd have the chance to make some valuable, long-lasting connections."

The witch twitched at the thought. "I'll consider it." His answering grin made her want to roll her eyes.

Charon did keep to his words and introduced her to several influential guests. There was a substantial amount of flirting involved in the introductions made. She suspected Charon's presence lowered whatever inhibitions people had about her age as she received a number of suggestive looks herself. She was willing to ignore the looks, however, for some new contacts. The most notable was an illegal arms dealer/smuggler by the name of Jomana. To her surprise, the woman was human and very much aware of the magical world. She operated between Southern Europe and Northern Africa and earned quite the profit from it. Wizards were rather arrogant if they thought the international Statute of Secrecy and a few vows from muggle-borns would keep muggles out of the loop indefinitely. Indeed, the law was rather redundant in the face of an intelligent muggle with connections to an independent magical community like that of the vampires. Of course, she would be bankrupt and dead if she snitched. You really have to appreciate the business sense of vampires.

A good three-quarters of the guests had departed by the time it hit 10 pm. Alana was rather dejected to see Jomana leave. The woman was decent company and had some rather interesting sniper rifles for sale that had her mouth unashamedly watering. The Steyr Scharfschutzengewehr 69, or SSG 69 was a magnificent Austrian sniper rifle. 650 mm barrel, 0.5 MOA accuracy... Furthermore, with a few adjustments to the design, the issue of ergonomics had been solved. Is this what love at first sight feels like?

"Staying for the after-party, mi amigo?" Francisco manifested beside her with the terrifying silence most vampires displayed. The humans had all cleared, so he deemed it safe to show off.

"I am sorry to say that I'm still undecided. I have a full schedule tomorrow." She smiled apologetically and took another sip of her champagnes. The fancy stuff tasted like shit.

The vampire grinned and nodded knowingly. "You will not get much sleep should you stay for the sex party."

She paused halfway to her glass and blinked. "Come again?"

"Charon is always such a pleasure to have at these events," The vampire continued uninhibited. "My sister does not care much for such activities, but his potions always keep her entertained."

"Would you excuse me, Francisco." Alana's grip, which had been steadily tightening on her glass seemed to suddenly go slack as she set the drink aside. A look of extreme jubilance descended upon her face as she strolled across the function room.

"It truly pains me to see you frown so much, Cherie. I would much rather see you moaning in pure bliss," Charon purred while his hand slid lower to stroke the thigh of the man seated beside him. A hand was placed upon his shoulder, and he turned with a devilish smile to see who wanted to join in on the fun.

"I see you've already started making those valuable, long-lasting connections… Charon." The pure innocence in the light voice felt like ice-cold water being tipped on his head. His head twisted mechanically to face Alana.

"Ah, Alana, so… nice… to see you…" He laughed nervously at the angelically smiling witch and attempted to tactfully manoeuvre himself away from her hand. If possible, the witch smiled even more. Sensing the atmosphere, his man cushion stepped away with an apologetic smile and Alana shamelessly slid onto Charon's lap.

"Sorry, I didn't know you had already arranged to go first," The vampire mumbled embarrassed.

"It's no problem, there's plenty of him to go around. I could remove his arm for you if you want?" Alana smiled while Charon looked noxious. He could practically see the demonic aura surrounding the girl and was morbidly wondering if this was how he would end. Being carved up by a child. The cold blade being stealthily traced around his manhood suggested that yes, the witch was going to murder him.

"Hahaha! No, it's fine. I'll wait for my turn." Charon whimpered at the loss of aid. The back view of a vampire had never looked so attractive before.

"Eep!" He squealed as the blade pressed down, but the sound was cut off by a hand on his mouth. She was still SMILING! He prayed that whichever deity responsible for sending the hellcat would have mercy on his pitiful self.

"We're friends, aren't we, Charon?" The man nodded vigorously. "I don't like being played for a fool," She chided. "It makes me very," she pressed the blade lower, "Irritable." He was breathing hard with a pleading look in his eyes. The blade was pressed with extreme precision and coated in magic that would cut through his skin, vampire or not. Alana's eyes were steel against his own. "Don't disappoint me again, Charon. I may not kill you, but I can certainly reduce your pleasure in living." She shifted off him, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He was somehow certain that her leaving had more to do with the hard on her actions were giving him than any desire to keep him alive.

Alana grimaced as she left. The sound of moaning was a backdrop that she did not need. Merlin, she needed some normal friends. Maybe that was asking for too much. She needed some not-completely-insane friends. There, the key to life: low expectations.

…

**1991 December**

Petyr Gillen spared a faux smile to the brunette to his left and her more influential husband before raking his hazel eyes over the party's attendants. The Lord Malfoy was as lavish as ever, sparing no expense to aid his wife's yearly mission of outdoing every other social event of the year. The room was covered in a thin layer of magical ice that branched over strategically placed trees. He had long since learned to expect the extravagance and paid no mind to the fact that the ice was neither slippery nor cold under his boots.

His lack of enthusiasm - or perhaps it was respect – had allowed a humouring smile to grace his relaxed features when he greeted his hosts. They were as resplendently dressed as always in layers of white and ice blue. He imagined it must have been quite the ego stroke to see so many in the same colours, the colours of their house's coat of arms. For his part, he was dressed in a long black coat with open sleeves and a fur trim. His gold undertunic and the grey-silver frost pattern of his undercoat were revealed by the open sleeves. He felt the dress appropriately comfortable for politicking in without being as ridiculously expensive as his spoon-fed peers.

"Master Gillen, I don't suppose you've heard the news of young Draco Malfoy's choice of Mentor, have you? Being out of the country as you have," The unfaithful wife attempted to entice the man into further conversation. She knew she had been successful when the black-haired man returned his gaze to her with unhidden interest. The greying hair at his temples seemed to only add to his natural charm.

"Oh? I suppose not. Willing to enlighten me, dear?" The unmissable Dublin accent left her breathless.

"I hear he announced a fellow Hogwarts fourth year, not two months after knowing her," She kept her voice low. Her rather obese husband shifted uneasily at his wife's gossiping. Gillen smiled, and this time it was genuine. The young Malfoy always did know how to stir up trouble for his father. He still recalled when the boy had unintentionally interrupted a business meeting and inadvertently caused a deal to fall from Lucius' hands into his own lap. The Lord had looked physically ill when he had thanked him. Needless to say, he was very interested in how this turn of events would play out. A sixth-year mentor would have been acceptable, he supposed, but a fourth-year was simply ridiculous. That was the age that one was typically assigned a Mentor. He knew Lord Malfoy would be fuming and likely attempting to remove his problem.

"A most interesting situation Lord Malfoy has been put in, but come, friends, let us not speak ill of our hosts."

…

Alana's gloved hands grazed the white embroidery running across the shoulders of her dark grey evening gown. Otavio had insisted the dress fit her well and she could only hope his fashion sense hadn't been irreparably damaged by virtual immortality. The vampire had proved himself invaluable during the past week. He seemed to have the same appreciation for loyalty that drove Marius to lend himself to her service. That was to say, she was sure of his sincerity. The contract of silence on her identity was also of considerable help in fostering trust between the witch and vampire.

She gave one last glance to her dress which appeared to have had its hemline dipped in the snow with its frost-like embroidery. It would do. The witch donned a white coat with grey fur trim and stepped into the fireplace beside her. She dearly hated transport by floo. As she dropped the handful of transport powder, the flames at her feet roared to life.

"Malfoy Manor," she called and was sucked through the pipe-like nightmare that was Britain's floo network.

She stepped out into a tidy foyer and was pleased to note that all her limbs were still attached. As if portkeys weren't terrifying enough, she'd heard stories of people getting lost in the floo network. Her black hair was mercifully untouched in its curly, braided updo. She did not linger in the foyer and instead pushed open the nearby door. The sound of music was sufficient to guide her to the party, and she was relieved to say that purebloods were not so uppity so as to have a herald at the door. The celebration was in full swing when she entered. She was not late, mind you, it was more a case of others arriving earlier. The invitation tended to give different times so that the foyer wasn't overwhelmed by guests.

The witch slinked across the floor with the grace of a feline in search of their prey. There were definite cliques amongst the invited, but the Malfoys were not difficult to find. Lord Malfoy looked like a vicious King of Ice with his frosted crown while Lady Malfoy appeared his benevolent Queen. It seemed a case of good-cop bad-cop though the roles were reversed in her case. It had to be said, however, that the daring v-cut of Mrs Malfoy's dress certainly warmed her character significantly.

"Lord Malfoy. Lady Malfoy," She greeted the pair with a curtsey of polite depth. Lady Malfoy whom she had not seen since their first encounter had a cold look in her eyes that did not bode well for the young witch. Alana supposed having your son enter into a Promisso Crueto without your consent would put anyone in a foul mood.

"Miss Vincent," Lord Malfoy greeted. All three could feel the stumble of multiple conversations as eavesdroppers took a breath. Alana would have laughed had it not been inappropriate. "We welcome you into our home. I hope this Yuletide has found you in good health and company."

"I thank you, Lord Malfoy, and hope the same for you and your house."

"Please, enjoy the festivities."

Just like that, it was over, and Alana was blissfully free to hunt down Draco.

If only it were that simple.

As the witch took her leave, she found herself swiftly drawn into a conversation when a woman purposely bumped into her. It was certainly one way to introduce yourself without having a mutual acquaintance.

"My apologies. I can't seem to find my balance this evening." The woman was average looking with bourbon hair and mint leaves for eyes. Her skin was a smooth brown that gave way to fine features and an inquisitive nose. She appeared to be in her early twenties but could have been much older considering how wizard ageing seemed to slow as one reached their thirties.

"It is quite alright, mademoiselle. It is not often that one has the pleasure of bumping into a beautiful lady such as yourself." The words left her mouth before she could fully process them. She hadn't realised she had such a smooth tongue. It must have been Greyson's influence or, Merlin forbid she pick up his habits, Charon's company. The startled woman graced her with a coquettish smile before dipping into a courtesy.

"Nor do I often have the good fortune to bump into such a charming young woman. My name is Tatiana Clive. Might I have the pleasure of knowing yours?" Credit had to be given for the woman's acting skills. Unfortunately, she was an amateur compared to the like of Lilith Bathery.

"Pretty words, Ms Clive. My name is Alana Vincent," She offered a good-natured smile to the woman and returned the curtsey with a nod of acknowledgement. The woman had, after all, just bumped into her. It wouldn't do for her to bow.

"How lovely it is to meet you, Miss Vincent. Are you, perhaps, a student of Hogwarts? I don't believe I have seen you at a Malfoy function before?"

"Indeed, I am a Ravenclaw. However, I was privately taught until last year, so I have never before had the joy of an invitation. Lady Malfoy has exceeded my expectations with her skill. The decoration is simply marvellous." Alana was quick to offer the woman her arm. It was both a polite gesture to the woman with a 'lack of balance' and a means of claiming control of the conversation. "And you, Ms Clive? If I am not mistaken, I do believe your house deals in Sumerian stone imports from Iraq." She offered her hand to the woman and upon her acceptance of it, drew her into a waltz.

"My uncle often takes me along to these events. Otherwise, I would be working in the Ministry until the early hours of the morning." The woman laughed as she was whirled around by her partner. She had not intended to divulge so much information, but the fresh meat was unexpectedly well-mannered.

"Ah, a fellow workaholic then? May I ask what ensnares your passion so? I should hate to have to vie for your attention in the future." The smirk accompanying her words made her seem far older than she was, and Tatiana was momentarily lost to the girl's liquid gold eyes.

"I work for the Department of Mysteries," She responded before she came back to her senses. She drew back slightly in horror at her behaviour. What sort of grown woman swooned before a fifteen-year-old?! The young witch did not seem to be offended by her actions which gave her a sigh of relief before she was once again questioning why such a thing should concern her. Who was getting information on who exactly? Before she could resume her dalliance with the criminally agreeable youth, the pair was interrupted.

"Ms Clive, I do not believe I have greeted you this evening," smiled an impeccably dressed Petyr Gillen. The man was unusually bereft of an entourage and housing a smooth smile. Tatiana started under the man's attentions. He was a lower-class noble much like herself, but there were rumours that the Minister of Magic was considering offering him a formal lordship and seat in Wizengamot. Had the Minister not been in Lucius Malfoy's back pocket, it likely would have already happened.

"Master Gillen," She greeted the well-known man. He had a mastery in Charms which really said everything you needed to know about his character. He owned one of the leading broom manufacturing companies in Europe despite having no apparent interest in the sport. Unbeknownst to her, he also had a large number of brothels under his ownership. He never could resist a profitable business venture. Tatiana knew she was outclassed and cursed her luck. She was hoping she'd have more time to gather dirt on Miss Vincent before the sharks came out to play. Reluctantly, she opted for a graceful retreat while she still had her family fortune to her name.

"Miss Vincent, this is Master Gillen of Malahide. Master Gillen, might I introduce my recent acquaintance, Miss Alana Vincent."

"A pleasure," The man smiled pleasantly.

"Likewise," Alana returned with an equally charming smile.

"I trust you are both enjoying yourselves this evening?"

"Quite," Tatiana replied. "If you'll excuse me, Master Gillen, Miss Vincent, I require the restroom." Alana watched her exit with mild curiosity. The man obviously intimidated her, and it was easy to see why considering the undertones of his smile.

"Might I have this dance, Miss Vincent?" The man inquired. He didn't seem the dancing type, but she acquiesced. It was a good choice of activity if one wished to not have their conversation interrupted. They finished a few turns about the room before he spoke.

"Do you often dance, Miss Vincent?"

Oh, wasn't he clever? Alana's wit stirred from its slumber. He wanted to know if she'd attended a political party before.

"Only when I find a suitable partner," She replied slyly. He dipped her as he turned.

"Should I feel privileged then to meet your standards?"

"I should hope it to be more of a pleasure than a privilege, sir. Good company is terribly difficult to come by these days."

"I would have to agree. I have heard you come from abroad. Is such fine company easier to find outside of Britain?"

"I would think you would know better than I, Master Gillen. Do you not own a substantial number of overseas trade deals?"

"True, I suppose. It is a shame I do not find the time to travel as often as I should." "I confess, I find myself rather curious. How is it that a fifteen-year-old with no British background came to be of such close acquaintance with the Malfoys?"

"A mutual acquaintance, of course. How is it that a minor-lord with such…unique taste in business came to be interested in someone of such unremarkable background as me?"

"I was curious as to whether you'd be worth the effort to invest in." She laughed at that. She was sure by now that the man had no love for the Lord Malfoy and was looking to cause trouble. They were on the same spectrum politically, but business was another story entirely and it was clear where his priorities were.

"I should hate to impose on your generosity when it may not be returned," She told him with an impish grin.

"A shame." He finished the dance and departed without any fanfare. She hoped she hadn't made an enemy, but the man seemed to have nothing but passing curiosity towards her.

"Alana."

Alana grinned

"I am most pleased you could come," Draco smiled eagerly while scanning her dress for any obvious faults. "You look well," He appraised and tucked her offered hand into the crook of his elbow. "Have you been introduced to anyone yet? I was talking to Nott before or I would have found you sooner."

"I've danced with Ms Tatiana Clive and Master Petyr Gillen already," She responded. Draco's eyebrows shot up in surprise, though whether it was because of the number of dances or her partners, she couldn't tell. Likely the latter.

"I see. Well, I'm sure we can remedy that."

The two made their rounds about the room. It was a relatively long guest list, and she was surprised to note that a great many guests were adversaries of some sort of the Malfoy family. Lord Frostbite certainly enjoyed rubbing his wealth in people's faces. Both her and Draco had put a great deal of thought into how they would go about the introductions, and she was extremely pleased to see everything go as planned. She had long since become proficient in acting older than she looked having dealt with those older than her on a daily basis. Easy confidence and a near-tangible charisma were exuding from her. She made herself appear sufficiently intelligent to pass necessary standards but didn't push too hard. Her connections were another matter entirely. It would be easy to find out from any Slytherin that she knew people, so she didn't dare hide it. She did, however, make it very clear that she was for hire.

Pfft! Loyalty! What loyalty? Draco was under her protection and tutelage, but she was free to do whatever she pleased during her free time. She was a contractor for Merlin's sake! The primary reason she was significant was because of her neutrality in all things. She was uninhibited, completely bereft of political ties and willing to offer her services to the highest bidder. There were many types of Mentors, and there was no strict guideline on what they were required to do. Lord Malfoy wanted political protection. Draco wanted someone willing to challenge him. Mrs Malfoy… Morgana knows what that woman wanted. So long as she had influence, she could protect Draco. So long as she didn't blatantly move against him publicly, he had no room for complaint. The best protection for Draco in this instance was her distance from his family's clique. The blood oath she had taken ensured her good faith.

The two were like Bonnie and Clyde with unnatural chemistry that kept them gravitating about each other. It was almost terrifying how quickly grown wizards were drawn into orbit. If Draco was the squirming bait on a hook, a fat, juicy, filthy-rich pureblood heir ripe for taking, then she was the line and sinker, a sharp-tongued witch reeling them in without them realising she was running circles around them. There were, naturally, exceptions to this rule. A certain Snape who was probably blackmailed into attending avoided the two altogether. Then there were sharp ones like Master Gillen, the Lords and Ladies who had been playing for longer than she'd been breathing. She was tactfully respectful of those dangerous ones. It wouldn't do to get a contract for her own head.

By the end of the day, she was proud to say that most of the weak-willed, sycophants were eating out of the palm of her hand. There seemed to be a unanimous agreement that anyone that politically inclined had to be worth knowing. It was a good thing Britain wasn't at war with anyone, or they probably would have thought her a spy. Draco was glowing like a pregnant woman throughout the entire evening. He'd even gone so far as to reintroduce her to his friends just because he was a Malfoy and he could.

Daphne Greengrass was eyeing her in the same manner her mother had when she'd greeted the Lady. It was the 'name your price, and I will buy your soul' look. Unfortunately for them, she'd already sold her soul to Death so they'd have to get in line. In all honesty, she'd found Lady Greengrass to be a very agreeable woman. Between herself and her husband, it was clear why they had gone unchallenged as the pro-neutral section of parliament. The power couple were as potent as the Malfoys, and their heirs were just as mindful. She was never more aware of the amount of work she'd have to do on Draco. Slow and steady. They'd get there eventually.


	36. 34) Home Calls

**1991 December**

There was something deeply disturbing about the Weasley residence. Its appearance spoke volumes of its inhabitants. Several stories high, the structure looked like it was the insane love child of Tim Burton and Dr Seuss. What might have once been a humble stone house had been burdened with a ridiculous number of crookedly stacked rooms. Five chimneys sprouted from the roof like weeds and a crooked sign near the entrance read 'The Burrow'.

Anxiety prickled Alana's mind as she calculated the probability of the funeral pyre house collapsing on her if she entered. The disgrace to magical architecture stuck out like a sore thumb in the otherwise pleasant scenery. Idly, the young witch wondered what sort of creatures would willingly inhabit such a residence. Clearly, they had to be insane or suicidal.

A pair of cackling twins fleeing out the front door assured her that it was an unfortunate mixture of both qualities.

"Fred! George! What have I said about pranks in the kitchen! How are you even at home?! You're supposed to be at Hogwarts for Yule!" A distinctly feminine voice shouted loud enough to pierce the veil.

There was nothing that could have stopped Alana from shielding her ears with a wince. To her relief, she received no such verbal acknowledgement from the woman. The Weasley miscreants passed her without so much as a glance. Their swift, and dare she say wise, escape was not a second too soon as a short, plump, flaming-haired demoness exited the door with a growl.

No really, her hair was literally flaming.

Alana was rendered speechless at the deliciously realistic enchanted flames shrouding the woman's hair. She had never seen magical flames of such high quality and was hit with the sudden urge to hunt her down some twins. Whether the exquisite work was the product of potions or spellwork was a mystery, but it was clear that the subject of the magic did not share her appreciation of the art.

Mrs Weasley seemed content to fume at her absent sons for a few more minutes before she noticed her guest. Alana was shaken from her thoughts by a fiery, brown gaze that soon settled down to a gentle warmth.

"You must be Alana," She exclaimed with sudden joy overtaking her features. "I'm so sorry you had to see that, dear. Those boys! Well, come in! Come in," The mother invited enthusiastically. Alana found herself unable to react as she was hustled into the house of doom.

The inside of the home - and it was most definitely a home - was a stark contrast to the outside. Any signs of structural instability vanished and gave way to a welcoming if cluttered family space. As soon as the cultural shock wore off, Alana was overtaken by curiosity. Her eyes flicked with unconcealed interest from object to object. There was much to look at in the living room. An assortment of muggle trinkets filled a weathered cabinet and on one wall hung graduation certificates that must have belonged to the elder Weasley sons now Hogwarts alumnae. A clock depicting not the time but the welfare of each family member took the central stage on the fireplace mantel. It was all very foreign to her.

It was also very distracting.

Alana finally tore her gaze away from the room and back to the Weasley matriarch. The woman was unsurprisingly observing her strange behaviour. She was, however, surprised to see the mischievously indulgent smile on her ageing features. Alana let a smile of her own flit across her features. She was both pleased and relieved to note that no excessive faux politeness would be required for tea. She already had one concerned mother dissecting her on a semi-regular basis and didn't need a Malfoy and a Weasley against her.

"You have a lovely home, Mrs Weasley. I don't think I've ever been seen a place more welcoming."

She realised how true the compliment was as the words left her lips.

"I'm glad you like it. Make yourself at home, dear. I'll get some tea and biscuits. You must be starving. Honestly, you were more than welcome to use the home floo to get here."

"I enjoy a scenic route now and then, and with the area, it was a temptation I couldn't pass up. I'm sorry my guardian couldn't come along for tea, Mrs Weasley, he doesn't much care for socialising. I hope you won't think ill of him for it."

"Not at all and please call me Molly. Mrs Weasley just makes me feel old," The woman playfully grinned as she set a tray laden with treats on the table.

"As long as you don't call me Miss Vincent," Alana quipped, "It makes me feel as though I'm about to get detention." Molly nodded in understanding.

"I can't imagine you get much of that though. You seem a nice enough girl. A Ravenclaw too! Ron has talked about you a fair lot in his letters home, and Minerva has been singing your praises."

Alana's eyebrows shot up at the mention of her Transfiguration professor. She was sure the woman was exaggerating. However, the fact that Molly had asked after her, and she had to have because Mrs McGonagall wasn't one to speak of students without cause, was telling.

"I'm sure she exaggerated. I enjoy learning but, truth be told, I don't think any student gets out of Hogwarts without at least one detention. With Professor Snape giving them out like candy, it's nearly impossible."

"No need to be so modest, dear. It's comforting to know Percy has such a charming girlfriend."

Alana would deny any claim that she choked on her tea at the comment. Fortunately for her, there were no witnesses to her slip because a shrill exclamation garnered both female's attention. To his credit, Percy had not fainted in the doorway but instead settled for the appearance of a blobfish. The blood had drained from his face, and he seemed to be gasping for air - or perhaps he was trying to inhale his lost dignity.

"Actually, I'm not his girlfriend."

"She's not my girlfriend!"

Mrs Weasley looked somewhat at a loss but quickly recollected herself. "Then what-"

"Friends, mum! Bloody Merlin, we're just friends! You said you wouldn't make assumptions last time. Can I not breathe next to a girl without you inviting them over for tea?!" Percy's voice reached an impressive level of shrillness before he slumped against the door frame. The action was so unusual to witness that Alana had to stifle an amused laugh. Even after being beaten seventy times in fencing, he had never looked so utterly defeated.

How was I supposed to know she wasn't the one you'd been pining over last holidays?! And don't you dare deny it either! I raised you well enough to tell when you're smitten. Hmph!"

"I certainly don't have a crush on the person who beats me up every week! Not that it's any of your business who I date anyways! There is a word for what you are doing, mum; it's called stalking. What do I have to do to get some privacy around here?!"

"You're dating?" Suddenly, the daggers Mrs Weasley had been glaring at her son turned into love hearts. Percy's groan could be felt on a spiritual level.

"That's all you got from that?"

**1991 December**

**Notification: Quest Progress!**

Main Quest: Drink from the skulls of your enemies (8/500)

Request: Chaos and Pain Reward: Wandless Crucio Pack (5/5)

"This is wrong on so many levels," Alana muttered. The Notification glinted mockingly as she took a sip of lemonade from another skull goblet. She set the cup down and returned to her perusal of the newest legislation passed through Wizengamot. It wasn't of much concern to her underground following, but it was still prudent to stay informed. Grooming Draco was no walk in the park after all. However, as dedicated to her role as she was, she couldn't read through decades of records herself, so she had left it to her newly acquired Matthews to read through and summarise the rest of the legal documents. It turned out Jake was just as competent in his studies as he'd been in primary, so she had little to fret when it came to finding him work for the holidays.

**_Creation: Capricorn V_**

_Species: Library System_

_Level: 31_

_Capable of mind defence, complex thought and processing 19,100 words per hour. New Skill: Legilimency (Active)_

**_Creation: Aquarius IV_**

_Species: Inventory System_

_Level: 38_

_Capable of storing 34 objects. Summoning cost decrease tripled._

**_Creation: Pisces IV_**

_Species: Healing System_

_Level: 5_

_Magic focus increased x2 Dexterity increased x2 Precision increased x2 Cost of summoning decreased._

Reading aside, she had several things to take care of during Yule. While the Greengrass ball that evening was of natural concern, it was not the event which occupied her thoughts.

She was getting an instructor in the mind arts.

It wasn't that she was failing in the form of magic. On the contrary, she was quite capable in the mind arts. Unfortunately, being capable was not enough. She was dealing with information she couldn't risk anyone getting wind off. Sensing mental intrusions may not have been a problem, but blocking a competent wizard was another story, and she had seen plenty of those as of late. Thus, she required a tutor.

Proficiency in the mind arts was not something people advertised. Most would not even speak of the topic outside of family discussions. It wasn't an open magical practice and was generally taught by a parent to their child. The main factors in this decision being the level of trust required to let someone frolic through your mind and secondly, the heavily debated ethicality of the magic itself and certain negative associations of the skill. It was a system that had long left muggle-borns at a disadvantage in the magical world. None of these facts was something she would let deter her.

That Lilith knew her way around wizarding society was no secret. Therefore, it was no surprise that the witch was more than able to lend Alana a hand in her search, for the right price. Two people died that day. Eventually, the shortlist had been narrowed down to one candidate. She was an Iranian woman with credentials from the Persepolis University of Magical Studies. It was a well-reputed institution with a long history of producing competent students. It gave her some confidence in the woman's abilities.

A meeting was set quickly and several binding documents laid out in Alana's fine penmanship for the occasion. The contracts were strict, fatally so. One which insured confidentiality had many similarities to the oaths taken by healers, but even then, the consequences were far direr. Sara Rostami was predictably thorough in reading the agreements before signing them. Alana was also quick to learn the woman was a formidable teacher. Indeed, Miss Rostami was unfailingly polite with a stern countenance that spoke volumes of her work ethic. Two lessons in, Alana had been given a new exercise called rattling which, as the name suggested, involved 'rattling' or shaking someone's train of thoughts enough to discomfit them. It was entertaining, dangerous, but ultimately entertaining. The muggles she practised on probably wouldn't agree with her.

**1991 December**

The Greengrass Ball was easily the quietest event of her Yule break. Without the company of Draco, she wasn't expected to stay the entire duration of the event, so she was able to leave early without offending her hosts at all. Lord and Lady Greengrass were astute political players. Anyone could tell from the united front they set in Wizengamot with each taking control of one of their two house seats. To call them a power couple would be a vast understatement. She had met them at the Malfoy's ball of course, but that was little preparation to meet them within their own domain. Lady Greengrass's gown paid homage to the goddess Athena in all her strategic glory. Meanwhile, her husband drew inspiration from Ares, her counterpart in war, representing its more physical aspects. Alana had poetically opted woven symbols of Persephone into her chiton's design. According to myth, the Greek goddess of spring and rebirth was stolen by Hades of the underworld to be his wife. While Hades was not Death, the similarities were still rather uncanny.

The two heads of the Malfoy family were predictably present and no less extravagant than usual with their Eros and Psyche interpretation. The magically conjured wings adorning their backs were intricately designed to mirror a dragonfly for the Lady and doves for the Lord. If anyone had entertained the thought of dissecting Alana at the Greengrass ball, they were sorely disappointed when Lord Malfoy greeted her with silent approval that spoke louder than anything he might have vocalised. Lady Malfoy was more reserved, but that was to be expected. Alana was free to wander and eavesdrop with little to hinder her. Few were inclined to invite a child into their circle of conversation, but she made do. Daphne Greengrass was present with her younger sibling, Astoria, and more than willing to engage in a verbal tennis match without Draco there to interrupt either of them. Alana rather enjoyed it, and the pleased glint in the eyes of both young Greengrass' assured her the feeling was mutual.


	37. 35) A Thief At Heart

**1992 February**

Not even the first rays of sunlight disturbed the dust motes that floated in the library's thick, musty air. Shelves lined the stone walls, stacked high with ageing tomes and whispers of preserved wisdom. Flick. The sound of a page turning was unbearably loud in the absence of all noise. Eyes of autumn gold flickered thoughtfully over the face of the immersed witch. Her bushy brown hair had been restrained at the nape of her neck, and large buck teeth peered out from nervously bitten lips. The witch's eyes, usually a deep brown, were deep-set in a tired face and slightly red. Alana's conscience stirred like a sleeping dragon in the recesses of her mind.

Who had made her Hermione cry?

There were multiple possible answers to such a question. Hermione was hardly beloved by many students. Her personality was too quiet, masked by insecurities to the point that many perceived the girl as an arrogant know-it-all. She was not easy company to enjoy; it was true. Flick. The page turned again, and Alana considered the reading material beside the girl with the thought it might provide more information. 'Genealogia Britannia: The Ancestors of Great Britain'.

Alana hummed thoughtfully causing Hermione's head to shoot up from her text. Her pupils were blown wide, the panic on her features lasting longer than necessary for her to recognise her observer. Alana chose to ignore the reaction and instead strode down the aisle of books, noting with no small annoyance that some of the texts looked to be in bad condition despite the application of preservation charms.

"Goodmorning, Alana," Hermione finally mumbled, not wanting to seem rude.

"Is it?" The teen replied mockingly still facing the shelf of tomes. "What new project has drawn you to the library so early, Hermione?" Her fingers trailed across knobbly spines reverently.

"Nothing in particular," Hermione lied through her teeth, "I'm just looking up something someone told me about yesterday." There was bitterness in the words that she couldn't contain.

"I see." Alana picked her way down the aisle before heading down another, picking up several books on her way. She returned to the young witch and set them down with an unintentionally dramatic thump. Hermione jumped in surprise, once again having not noticed her presence.

"What's this?" She asked, almost worried at the impassive face of the older girl. The top novel she could see was titled 'The Tales of Beedle the Bard'. "This is a fairy tale book," She muttered with a frown of contempt. She had grown out of such fantasies years ago. Reality was far more unforgiving than any novel.

"You're looking into pureblood culture, aren't you?" Alana asked and received a reluctant nod. The younger girl began to nibble her bottom lip nervously. "If you want to understand the core beliefs of any culture, the values they hold dear, their greatest hopes and their darkest fears, you must begin by looking at them with the eyes of a child. Myths and legends, stories, will always be the greatest method with which parents teach their young. Start with these," She indicated the top three books including a book titled 'Tales of the Tuatha De Danann'. "Then read these," She separated the bottom two books. One covered the obligations of nobility, and the other, religious sects. "Once you can connect them, I'll get you some more." Alana knew the witch was clever; she would understand eventually. Knowledge was only useful when one had the wisdom to use it well.

Hermione grappled with her instructions, her facial expression openly debating the wisdom of Alana's words. "Alright," She clenched her jaw firmly. "I suppose its as good a place as any to start."

**1992 February**

Richard Farrell seemed to be coming around to the idea of magic more as the days passed by.

"And you can levitate objects with just a phrase?" The muggle inquired with curiosity not even death could dampen.

"We can levitate objects without a phrase if we're talented enough," Alana smiled.

"What about water?"

"Levitation spells work with solid masses only. Liquids require a separate spell. I'm not sure if jelly would count a solid or liquid, or whether colloid gels have their own spells. It's food for thought, though, isn't it?"

"I don't know what colloid gels are, but I think I get your point," Farrell mused.

The two continued their morning stroll down the corridors until they reached the deserted astronomy tower. Looking down from the large tower, Alana could vaguely makeout Professor McGonagall's moving form through her office window. You could identify a great many rooms from the tower, most used for classes. Interestingly, the window to the headmaster's office was visible but probably spelled to be one-way as nothing could be discerned from its surface.

Following her intent gaze, Farrell tilted his head in thought. "The headmaster talks a lot with the ghosts," He commented lightly. "Almost more than you do. I wondered at first if he was just lonely, but he often asks such specific questions that I am almost tempted to practice silence as the Grey Lady and Bloody Baron do."

Alana paused at that, frowning, first at the thought of her ghost companion being made to feel uncomfortable and then at the headmaster's behaviour. Although it was not surprising that he should use ghosts to monitor the castle, it was still disconcerting.

"He asked about you as well," Farrell continued through her silence, deaf as he was to her thoughts. "He worries for that boy you've taken under your wing - he blond one. The green-eyed one as well I should think. He always asks."

Alana gripped the astronomy balcony. "He has no need to trouble himself." Her tone was icy calm.

"I know. I thought only to let you know. The headmaster may be good at talking, but you are a much better conversationist. I should hate to lose someone who understands it takes two to form a duet."

**1992 March**

**Ding!**

**_Notification: Level up!_**

_Library System: Aquarius is now level 40 and capable of __storing 35 objects. Summoning cost decrease tripled. Max level reached! Would you like to evolve Aquarius?_

_YES or NO_

**Ding!**

**_Notification: Evolution!_**

_Inventory System: Aquarius IV has evolved to Aquarius V! level 0 capable of storing up to 35 objects. Summoning __cost decrease tripled._

**Ding!**

**_Notification: New Skill: New Skill: Battery (Passive) _**

_System can now store and release energy._

The path to the stone was in no way easy. She chose to make her attempt in the dead of night, a few weeks before the Easter break. Her preparation, however, had begun long before then. The witch had meticulously surveyed the hall before slipping a tracking potion into Professor Quirrel's afternoon tea. An after-class conversation on oblivion moss conservation proved to be the perfect opportunity. It was a pity to have to use him as a scapegoat, but it was the most convenient option - granted he never discovered her involvement. Her equipment compartment was unlocked and catalogued with intense scrutiny. Then she waited.

The hall was deserted and pitch-black at the hour she arrived on the third floor. Not a soul nor painting had stirred as she moved through the castle. Even Filch and his cat, Mrs Norris, were simple enough to fool when you knew how. Some silencing runes, scent masks, and the consumption of the three potions she had commissioned from Charon did the trick. Those potions had cost her favours that she'd yet to repay which left her rather twitchy, but she couldn't regret the results. A night vision potion was the least of the three, the other two causing more trouble as she'd chosen to collect the ingredients herself rather than pay Charon's hefty fee. He'd finished them at Yule.

The first and second potion she'd taken before leaving as both caused her eyes to burn feverishly, the one for night vision for a few minutes and the one for magus sight for a good hour as she contorted with pain. Magic could be observed in a number of ways, extending your magical aura being the most common but not the most convenient method as it was impossible to cast magic simultaneously. Magus sight potions temporarily allowed the eyes to see magic by drawing magic straight from the core. It was a dangerous enough potion that it was restricted to Masters of magic, wand-users with master qualifications in one or more branches of magic. Charon had made a few adjustments to the standard potion and had reduced his price some on account of her being a guinea pig for him.

The third floor appeared normal at first glance. However, on closer inspection, it was a literal minefield of protections against intruders. Wand magic sensors, pressure-sensitive alarms, motion detectors and similar charms coated the area in a patchwork of arrays. No one would get in or out without the ward-holder knowing. She had no doubt the headmaster was responsible for the setup. Had he wanted to test his pawn, Harry Potter, so much as to willfully ignore the alarms that would in no uncertain means identify the magical signature of a trespasser. Then again, perhaps, Quirrel-mort had somehow already disabled the alarms before entering. She wasn't sure, but it was always wise to prepare for the worst-case scenario.

She whisked a flask out and downed a mouthful of the potion with a grimace. Charon had been right to warn her about the taste. The green viscous liquid was nauseating. Her magic constricted in response to the first potion before crawling back into her skin. It left her unpleasantly exposed to the magic around her but would prevent her from accidentally setting something off or leaving her magical signature behind. She had an hour worth of the potion in the flask. More than enough to complete her task, or so she hoped. Her feet moved, navigating the perilous area quickly but cautiously. She had religiously studied and mapped out the halls patterns - and there were patterns, all magic was rooted in patterns and geometric formations that overlapped and interlinked.

Certain spells could not be placed beside each other and the more powerful a charm, curse or rune, the more space required for it to function without disturbance. All spells degraded over time, that time being dependent on the strength and skill of the caster as well as the spell's innate properties. Arrays strengthened spells and gave them the structure to maintain that strength for longer periods of time. This was particularly important within the castle which was imbued with magic that ran through its every stone and fixture to connect it to the land. Spells cast on its structure would begin to erode as soon as they made contact unless cast in arrays and given regular maintenance.

Alana had first marked the arrangements on paper with star chart precision. They were then copied onto her bedroom floor in chalk to practice the necessary motions to pass them. Dismantling them was beyond her skill in the given time frame and was guaranteed to attract attention, so the path of less resistance was taken. This would be the easiest part of her robbery. She twisted slightly, bending backwards to avoid a sensor. Much like a laser tripwire alarm, some of the spell formations would react to any object placed between them and their counterpart. Without Pisces, Alana was forced to rely on her own skill and precision to complete the task. Hermes was on her side, however, and she made it to her heavily warded objective.

The door was a heavy oak construct with no identifiable markings. Alana examined the lock on the door with a grimace. It was old enough that she knew picking it would be an easy feat. The potent alarm array fixed into its surface linked to the lock and would be triggered if opened with the use of magic. She brought forth a set of silver-coated lockpicks, her first commission from Shephaestus and not her last. Such a powerful array meant there couldn't be any charms against picks on the keyhole. She found it amusing that the wizard had opted for protection against magic before mundane methods. It was a basic warded lock, consisting of concentric plates protruding outwards which blocked the rotation of keys not designed for it. It took her barely five minutes to figure out the correct key combination.

She didn't dare breathe as she slipped through the doorway. Dipping her leather-clad fingers into her pocket, she found a small magical music box she had brought over Yule. The room was small, almost unbearably so considering the slumbering beast it housed. Her boots were silent, but the hairs on the back her neck still pricked upwards in apprehension. Surely, she was breathing too loudly. The canine stirred, a single head rising from the stone floor like a black serpent. Its fur was oily black over hard muscles and throbbing veins. It smelt of sweat and death. Its large eyes turned slowly in her direction. They were liquid darkness, immortal and impassive, gaping gateways to Erebus that consumed the meagre light in the room. It did not blink as two more head rose to join it. The cerberus, the hound of hades, growled lowly. The world darkened.

Alana took a step back, and the beast pounced. Its large maw widened sickeningly with strings of saliva hanging from its large teeth and the bits of flesh between them. Alana threw her body sideways, narrowly avoiding injury as her music box began its lullaby. The three-headed dog snarled as its heads twisted to follow the girl. Its claws gouged deep marks into the stone as its body contorted to follow suit. She didn't wait for the music to settle it, already halfway to the trap door it had been resting on. It was unwarded, and she ducked, sparing a glance to the cerberus which stood rooted to the ground, body swaying as its heads dipped to the floor. Then, down the rabbit hole, she went.

The young witch landed in a swamp of black vines. They were grotesque things, coasted in a layer of sludge-like perspiration. They shivered upon her contact, crawling over her body and tightening their long, wet limbs over her available limbs. A few wriggled their way into her hood, writhing through her hair like Medusa's snakes and curling contently at the exposed skin at the base of her neck. She shivered as it happened, letting the plant pull and push her body as it pleased. Devil's Snare was sensitive to heat and light, and while she had a few applicable objects in her pocket, she felt compelled to conserve her energy for the next obstacles. She dove into her mind, reaching for that stillness within her Mindscape that would allow her to relax. The vines loosened a fraction. Then, some more until her gravity dragged her under with a sharp tug.

The third room was far less dazzling than the previous and quiet reprieve for Alana. It was found down a sloping tunnel of stone that opened into a high, well-lit chamber. The air a metre above her head was a sea of glittering winged keys, one of which, she deduced would oven the silver lock on the only exit. A broom floated innocently in the centre of the room. Alana ignored all of this and went to examine the lock. The entire door screamed of Professor Flitwick's involvement. The lock was silver charmed to allow only a key with an identical magical signature in. The work was wonderfully done. It was a pity for her head of house that Alana had prepared for such an instance. She would not have gone to Shephaestus for any ordinary set of lockpicks. Indeed, the silver coating on hers was done with such charms in mind. Silver was magically conductive after all so any magical signature would pass the through the material like electricity through copper wire. She was rather proud of the ingenuity on her part.

The fourth, fifth and sixth chambers were not even worth mentioning, unresponsive as they were with Charon's lovely potion. Wand-users were as good as ghosts to tracking spells without their magical aura. It was a fact she was more than willing to exploit just as many before her had. Evidently, the staff responsible for the protective rooms had not humoured the possibility of a being without a magical aura - say, a vampire - attempting to get past. Of course, a vampire might have had trouble weaving their way blindly through the alarm arrays scattered around. It was fortunate she could see them as without her magical aura, she would have been blind.

The seventh chamber was the last, and the significance of the number seven was not lost on her. The stone room was spacious and rectangular with lit braziers dispersed along the walls. The central feature was a large, ornate mirror. It had clawed feet and a gold frame with the phrase "Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi "engraved above its reflective surface. _I show not your face, but your hearts desire. _Alana's eyes lit up, but she was not without caution. She inspected the room carefully as only she could, avoiding multiple arrays to close in on the mirror. Once she was close enough to brush the mirror, she allowed the last dose of magic restricting potion to wear off. The mirror was ancient and powerful. Therefore, it was the safest place to be as no external charms were placed in its immediate vicinity for fear they would erode.

Her reflection stared back at her, untouched before her spreading magic touched its surface. She cleared her mind, able to see but not feel the mirrors magic reaching out to her. It was discomforting to know magic could so easily touch her without her knowing. She had a long way to go. She imagined the sorting hat had similar magic, allowing into to delve into the human mind, but the thought was cut short as her reflection moved.

Supposedly, the stone could only be taken by someone who didn't want to use it. Assuming Dumbledore was telling the truth and considering that she intended to destroy it, she ought to qualify. Her reflection looked rather ordinary. She was alive and well, a bit chubby but otherwise looking like her normal self. It was perfectly normal in her opinion. Until it wasn't. Suddenly she was staring at her corpse as it was burned at the stake. Alana recoiled, barely stopping herself from moving outside of the mirror's protection. The fire looked too real, and she could almost feel the heat stroking her skin feverish. Not wanting to contemplate whatever possible deeper meaning the image had, she opened her fingers. Gleaming in the mirrors flames, the philosopher's stone looked as innocent as a pomegranate born of the underworld.

**...**

Elsewhere in the forbidden forest, Aquarius lurked in the underbrush. The magic of its creator burned like a flame in the summons, steady despite the disconnection of its maker's magic. The Alvarian ward stone in its inventory burned hot as its stored magic was fed to the summons much like a batter. Its blue form was tinted a dark red with its contents as it rolled itself over a moss-covered trunk and onto the lowest hanging branch of a tree. It bounced lightly with enthusiasm before settling in to wait. The potion within it burned as the one linked to it neared.

A rustle and a thump, the sound of a heavy cloak dragging through the undergrowth. Still, Aquarius waited. It emerged from the forest, a creature of rotting flesh and mutated bone. It's sinister claws scraped along the tree below, gouging deep holes into the trunk with its uncontrolled magic. The summoning quivered as that magic reached out to it, leaving cold burns along the surface of its corporeal body. It stilled suddenly before throwing itself off the branch. It sailed through the air, not unlike a water balloon as liquid shot out from its surface with the force of a geyser headed towards the cloaked target. A cold Avada kedavra hit the summons as it darted away but the curse merely dissipated as it hit the being of thought. Aquarius fled into the night back to its mistress, back to its creator.

The shade in the clearing hissed, jerking its wand in the movement of a drying spell. The liquid sizzled under the wave of magic and began to smoke. The wand-holding creature spasmed and twisted, its bones snapping as the liquid gorged itself on its flesh. An unholy sound tore itself from its burning throat, piercing the night air and sending nearby animals running in instinctive fear. All the while, the liquid continued to burn like acid worms winding their way into their hosts every orifice. The squelching of decomposing intestines echoed in the clearing as the liquid fed upon the fountain of magic that was the broken wizard. The man, the thing, the creature tried in vain to retract its magic back into its rotting shell, but the shadow-like expansions of will refused to be tamed so quickly after so many days of tight control. It was futile, so the wizard-creature ran. Its gait was that of a crazed beast, hurtling through the forbidden forest in search of water its magic was no longer stable enough to conjure. It searched, and it burned. Nothing was left of him when the sun rose.

**1992 April**

"That doesn't make any sense," Hermione grouched. The group of Gryffindors and older years had claimed an unused section of the library hours ago, and Hermione and Alana had yet to stop debating basic magical theory.

"What part isn't making sense? You have a physical aura, and you have a magical aura. Your physical aura is a reflection of your mind while your magical aura is a reflection of your magical core."

"They're the same thing!" Hermione exclaimed, biting her tongue when she realised the were supposed to be quiet.

"Magical creatures don't have to have a magical core to be magical, do they? What about vampires and werewolves? They have physical auras that reflect the nature of their being without a core. Merlin, haven't you ever wondered why being around Professor Sinistra makes you so calm in astronomy? It's her physical aura because I can tell you now that woman is definitely not predisposed to light or neutral magic."

"Professor Sinistra isn't a dark witch!"

"She's definitely dark, but that doesn't make her evil. The Longbottom family is supposedly predisposed to dark cores as well. I don't know about Neville, but I've yet to see any other member of their line wanting to commit mass genocide. Just because most of the wizards you know with dark cores tend to be idiots doesn't mean they all are. Correlation doesn't equal causality, Hermione."

"So people are just stuck with whatever gene-determined magical core they are born with?!"

Alana frowned. "Don't be ridiculous. Nature and nurture both play a role. We're not independent of our surrounding, but neither are we solely dependent on them. Our core and our psyche have the same relationship. If they didn't, it would not be so easy to confuse magical and physical auras. But, Hermione, it is important to learn to tell the difference," Her tone was serious now, infinitely so, and it caused the others in the group who had blocked out the conversation to tune in again. "Both of those auras are essential to how we perceive the people and the world around us. You wouldn't let yourself walk around half-blind, would you? The most dangerous magical creatures aren't the ones who can suck your blood or turn you to ash, they're the ones who can make you think that you're safe, who can lure you into their arms willingly, who can twist your mind until all you are is theirs to control. Someone who can kill is a threat, but someone who can kill and lie about it the next day is infinitely worse. Wand-users, witches and wizards, have always fallen into the second category. Really, you only need to look at our history to realise the corpses we've covered to get to where we are today. Given that history, it isn't so surprising that so many creatures resent our kind."

It was silent by the time my monologue ended - silent to the point where you could have heard a pin drop. Leoen somewhat disconcerted while Ron looked appalled. Harry was wide-eyed and really, that should have been sign enough that she'd said too much.

"Sorry," Alana apologised, and the word felt sterile on her tongue. "I suppose that was a bit heavy for first years. I just don't want to see you getting hurt." She coughed self-consciously. "The world of magic is great and all, but it has just as much danger and forgetting that is unwise."

"Right," Hermione was biting her tongue as her eyes looked to anywhere that wasn't her eyes.

Alana sighed.

"Professor Quirrel's disappeared!" Charlotte bellowed as she rushed into the library. Madam Pince could be heard chastising the witch before she appeared with a folder clutched under an arm. "I heard Professor McGonagall talking to Professor Sprout. Apparently, he's stolen something from the school. I've never heard her so worried. I'm half expecting manhunt at this point," Charlotte struggled to look concerned and not excited at the prospect. She failed.

"What do you mean he stole something?" Harry jumped up to question. His face equal parts suspicious and concerned as Charlotte explained she had no idea.

"I don't suppose Professor Quirrel is one of those wizards you were warning us about?" Hermione commented with a strained smile, obviously unsettled but trying to regain her balance. It was a noble effort.

**1992 April**

**_Creation: Capricorn V_**

_Species: Library System_

_Level: 33_

_Capable of mind defence, complex thought and processing 19,300 words per hour. New Skill: Legilimency (Active)_

**_Creation: Aquarius V_**

_Species: Inventory System_

_Level: 0_

_Capable of storing 35 objects. Summoning cost decrease tripled. New Skill: New Skill: Battery (Passive) _

**_Creation: Pisces IV_**

_Species: Healing System_

_Level: 9_

_Magic focus increased x2 Dexterity increased x2 Precision increased x2 Cost of summoning decreased._

"Why won't this bloody stone break!" Alana screamed profanities. Later, she would be thankful that Marius wasn't home to observe the scene. The witch was clad in pyjama's and standing on the settee with a wand brandished at the blasted, stupid, mocking philosopher's stone. Her curse hurtled towards the stone at record-breaking speeds but did nothing upon impact. She flopped down, wincing at the lack of cushioning. Aquarius burped after another unsuccessful attempt at dissolving the stone. It gurgled sympathetically at its creator.

"Battery, huh? I've been such a negligent creator, haven't I, Aquarius?" Alana allowed the slime to slide its way onto her chest and the summons began to purr contentedly. "Maybe I can get you to store electricity or moonlight," She mused, thinking of moonstones and time-sensitive potions. Light and sound energy would be entertaining to explore. Flash bomb Aquarius was oddly appealing. She grinned. Her little slime was so talented. Aquarius had proven able to store magical energy but was unable to transfer it directly into another object. The slime could absorb it directly or have it radiate out into the environment. Magical storage had always been a problem for wizards. They released it so easily but couldn't absorb it as other magical creatures did. Magic required intent to enter a wizard, and once magic entered Aquarius, it lost that intent.


	38. 36) A Sharper Sword

**1992 April**

"One must never scratch, spit, hiccup or belch while at the table."

"Take care not to breathe too heavily, nor eat too loudly."

"Do not compliment the food. Such behaviour is deserving of a tavern and not a table of Lords."

"Food offered by one of higher rank is an honour. Food from the same or lesser is a humiliation."

"Never pass your nose over food or drink lest you seem rude."

"Litha colours are yellow, green and blue. Yule dons silver, blue and white. Observe light green, lemon yellow and pale pink in Spring, and orange, red, yellow, gold, and brown in Autumn."

"Tradition is the backbone of our society, and special attention should be paid to all customs and ceremonies."

Back straight with an even gaze, a representative to House Malfoy was expected to never lower their eyes in a conversation. A woman of any good-breeding must know their allies: The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, House Nott, House Carrow, House Rosier, House Lestrange, and House Burke of the sacred twenty-eight. The mind was a vessel for our history and the body a tool to forge it. To be a noble representative of Britain was to be a symbol of strength and fortitude, a deterrent to would-be usurpers and foreign powers. They were the first and last line of defence against the parasites of the magical world.

Alana stiffened as a cane stung the knuckles of her hand. She had hesitated again. Her fingers flexed, continuing their path to what she hoped was the salad fork. Why people felt the need to have three types of spoons, four knives, five forks and five glasses, she could not fathom. The Malfoy family motto glared mockingly at her from where it hung in the dining room: _Sanctimonia Vincet Semper - Purity will always conquer. _A pair of black dragons hovered above it with a green, and black shield gripped between them, the Malfoy coat of arms.

The cane struck again, and Alana hissed silently. She was beginning to think Lady Malfoy was beginning to enjoy herself a bit too much. Sadly, the woman's stony expression did nothing to confirm her theory. She wrapped her fingers over the correct piece of cutlery, as evidenced by the lack of reprimand. Her lunch had already long gone cold but would likely still taste better than whatever she would have scraped together at her London residence.

The Malfoys had already dined before she arrived, so the Lady of the house was free to personally administer the tortuous sermon on etiquette and manners Alana had unknowingly signed up for. Even Capricorn, who was usually content to sort knowledge, was in a mood because of the disturbance. The last time Alana had stepped into her mindscape, the library system had stared at her for a good minute in silent protest before returning to his tasks. There wasn't much to be done about the situation. Between rearranging her relevant theoretical knowledge with her newly acquired physical experiences, and researching ways to destroy the Philosopher's stone, she was busy enough.

**1992 April**

The school term began as though break had never happened, which was an insult to her suffering as far as Alana was concerned. The departed Professor Quirrell had been replaced with some french teaching fellow who'd attended Beauxbatons Academy of Magic. She was a pretty woman which was enough indication that her presence would be temporary. That fact didn't seem to make a difference to the seventh years who fawned over her with love-struck eyes. It was amusing to the point where Alana and Charlotte had taken to spectating the Professor's rejections with bowls of popcorn in their hands.

Fencing Club resumed without any delays thanks to Professor Flitwick's quick thinking. The group hadn't been too ill-affected by the introduction of Potter, at least not enough to hinder the way it functioned. There was a reshuffling of sparring partners amongst the Gryffindor-Slytherin pairs, but things were otherwise calm. No one was inclined to break the truce Rowan Blackwood had called when he took his usual spot as the punching bag of Leoen's brother without complaint. It was a noble sacrifice on Rowan's part. He did his title of club president proud.

"Professor Flitwick asked me to switch partners for the day," Percy announced while handing Alana one of the illusioned rapiers in his grasp. His nose was scrunched up at the prospect, but he didn't comment further.

Leoen had missed the past two practices to complete assignments, so Percy had been filling in as usual. Apparently, her head of house wanted to mix things up. Not the brightest idea considering she was the Ravenclaw wild child and Percy had a tenuous grip on the Gryffindor crown. The whole Potter fiasco really limited the plausible partners they could take in Fencing Club.

"I think I saw one of the Hufflepuffs without a partner," She suggested halfheartedly. She really didn't fancy sparring with one of the less experienced members. That sadly eliminated most of her options. She was a complete novice in swordwork, but her reflexes were sharp enough that most struggled to keep up with her, nonetheless. Percy was exceptionally skilled, which made for an enjoyable experience for both of them. The only other person who could match him was possibly Rowan, but he was otherwise occupied.

"Need a partner?" As though summoned by her thoughts, Rowan manifested before her in his green-eyed glory. "Here," He practically beamed, tossing a limp body in front of his so he could shove it towards her. "You can have mine," He grinned. Before she could say a word, he had locked onto the older Weasley sibling and was dragging him away. In the ensuing silence, she could hear him hiss as the older Weasley, "Don't look back, he'll sense your weakness."

Alana glanced at her supposed partner for the day. The elder Volkov was someone most people avoided, and with good reason. He was the heir to his family estate, a tall, willowy wizard with porcelain skin and a pair of large, black, soulless eyes. His hair was as pin-straight as his posture, and the only part of him that looked remotely safe to touch. Rumour said he could hypnotise a person into committing suicide, but all she could think about was that he looked like a human doll. Illumi Volkov was nothing like his younger brother.

He stared at her for a few seconds, doing nothing to ease the tension in the air. It grew heavier. Alana felt sweat bead on her forehead, and numbly realised that she had stopped breathing. It seemed gravity had decided to pull her under the Earth's crust and her legs strained to keep her upright. The wizard blinked, and she was released. Inhaling sharply, she almost gasped for breath as he turned away from her. He crossed the room with long strides, waist-length locks of black hair swaying behind him. Alana wasn't quite sure what had just happened but knew better than to question it. Her limbs were stiff, but she managed to follow after the fifth year.

He still hadn't said anything when he stopped by his and Rowan's usual sparring area and picked up the sword she hadn't even realised he was missing. He stared at her pointedly and Alana, for the first time in a while, felt like the child between the two. It was not pleasant. She raised her sword into the starting position to mirror his own. There was no warning before he lunged towards her.

If she was lightning in her reflexes, then he was bloody Thor. She barely moved the foil in time to block a vicious strike to her left. Her arms burned under the unexpected force of the blow, but he was already moving to remise. The second short attack was followed by a third and fourth, which she narrowly managed to parry. There was no time to counter-attack, no time to observe his form under the constant barrage, and certainly, no time to think. A beat caught her off guard, the quick strike of her opponent's blade to hers creating an opening for a clear hit. The moment after he made contact, he withdrew. In the second it took for her to realise she'd been hit, he was already back in the starting position.

Had she not been terrified out of her wits, she might have taken the time to feel pity for Rowan who endured the Volkov's treatment every week. As it was, she could on take a shaky breath and stumble back into place. She managed to recollect herself, feeling both the weight of the older boy's gaze and the bruise he'd left on the arm as she did so.

She knew the Volkov's were trained, but the gap between Illumi and Leoen's skill level was ridiculous. There was a one year difference! Surely him being able to completely overpower her without breaking a sweat was a bit much. Leoen was skilled enough to keep up, but Illumi was purely demonic. His attacks were brutal and precise to the point where for a moment, she'd forgotten she was sparring and not fighting for her life. Her small slip where her free hand moved to summon a hidden blade from its sheath had left her in a cold sweat. She had been so sure that he would kill her.

She steadied herself and smoothed out her occlumency shields. Inside her mind, Capricorn prepared himself for the new stimuli he would be tasked to analyse. Illumi was still waiting. "Again," She tightened her grip and raised the foil.

She was beaten severely that day - over and over and over again.

**1992 May**

"Norbert is a Norwegian Ridgeback. Doesn't Hagrid know that they're venomous, not to mention illegal to hand-raise?! I don't know what Hagrid is thinking, bringing one of them into the school! Surely he knows what a risk that is. I mean really, hatching a fire-breathing dragon in a wooden hut just screams irresponsible. I don't know why the headmaster hasn't done anything yet. Surely, he knows about it," Hermione continued to rant. Her face was turning a fashionable shade of red as the Gryffindor trio headed back to the castle.

"Hermione, keep your voice down. Do you want the whole castle to know?" Ron grouched. He gave the witch a look that questioned her supposed intelligence. Seeing her ready herself to make a retort, he quickly interrupted, "Besides, everyone knows Dumbledore has a soft spot for Hagrid. The worst-case scenario is that he gets told off. The headmaster always looks after his favourites."

Harry's eyes dived towards the ground in preparation for the argument he knew was about to start. If only, he had his invisibility cloak, he thought regretfully. Hermione gasped, scandalised. "Ron! Favouritism isn't okay, and it shouldn't be encouraged," she scolded as though speaking to a misbehaving child.

Ron looked distinctly uncomfortable but held his ground. "I'm not saying it's alright, 'Mione, I'm just saying that you should choose your battles wiser."

"He's right, you know," a voice chimed from the nearby hallway. Charlotte Winters sent the three a cheeky smile when their heads shot up in alarm. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop," She apologised, "but you were talking really loudly. Not exactly hallway conversation, is it?"

"Charlotte, what are you doing here?" Hermione's face flushed with embarrassment, but she still looked pleased to see the witch. The two were frequent study companions in the library along with the notably absent Lola.

"Can't a witch take a walk around the castle?" Winters inquired with an arched eyebrow and crossed arms. She was still dressed in her day robes, her Ravenclaw tie hanging loosely around her neck.

"It's curfew soon, and we were just headed back. It's a strange time to be walking about," Harry finally piped up. His viridescent eyes examined her sharply. Charlotte just laughed good-naturedly. The little kid had certainly filled out, she noted with some satisfaction. He was no longer a waif of skin and bone waiting to be blown over by the wind. She had chosen not to say anything when she'd caught Alana dosing his food in various healing potions. Giving them to a minor without parental consent was definitely illegal, but for whatever reason, Alana thought it necessary, and she trusted the witch's judgement.

"I was going to find Lola, actually. She said she would come by after helping Professor Sprout in the greenhouse this afternoon, but I haven't seen her since. Those two tend to lose track of time, so I figured it couldn't hurt to check up on them." Charlotte smiled.

"Oh, well, we won't keep you any longer, then. Say hello to Lola and the Professor for me," Hermione blurted out, tugging two bewildered boys behind her as she marched down the halls. If she let them hang about any longer, they would no doubt say something stupid.

**1992 June**

"What do you mean Nicholas is dead?" Dumbledore gasped. His gnarled hands shook as they reached out to find support on a nearby table. His phoenix, Fawkes, trilled softly in the background but the usual calm that accompanied it did not reach him. Nicholas Flamel could not be dead. The mere thought was ridiculous.

"I mean that I found my husband's corpse rotting in our kitchen when I came home today," Perenelle bit out through gritted teeth. Her stern features twisted with despair and anger. The image flickered in the flames of the fireplace. Dumbledore wheezed painfully. "Nicholas has been murdered, Albus, all because of that blasted stone." Perenelle laughed through the floo call. It was a bitter and pained sound, not unlike that of a wounded animal. "Do you know what the funny thing is?" She bared her teeth mockingly, and Dumbledore shook his head.

"No," he mouthed. His throat constricted, his lungs burned, but his eyes remained free of tears.

"In the three hundred years I've lived, he has survived poisonings, abductions, bombings, thieves, and death threats, but the one time he didn't actually have the stone, he gets himself killed." Her voice shook, her face crumbling as words left her lips. There was some grief, not even he could soothe.

"I'm sorry, Perenelle, truly-" Albus tried anyway.

"I didn't floo call you for apologies, Albus," She interrupted. Her eyes were bloodshot, and for a brief moment, he envied her for her tears. "I wanted to let you know that you need not worry about the stone," She spoke, quieter now. Dumbledore fought down the swelling of desperate hope before it could reach on his features. She continued, "There was a Curse of Providence on the object."

His breath caught before his eyes bulged in surprise. There was gratitude there as well as he thanked whatever god had moved Flamel to use the ritual curse so long ago. The spell was considered extreme light magic and was one of the many magical bond-forming rituals that had been classified as highly dangerous by the International Confederation of Wizards after the Goblin Wars. The ritual would tie a neutral magical tool to its creator's magical core. Done correctly, the device would be made virtually indestructible and responsive only to the will of its bonded owner. Perenelle had been extended the ability to use the stone through the marriage bond she and Nicholas shared, but that privilege was now no more.

"The stone is destroyed. Without Nicholas' core to anchor the other end of the bond, it will destroy itself. I suppose his murderer did you a favour."

Albus was pulled from his thoughts by Perenelle's rough voice. His face twisted in discomfort. Perenelle had always been the more volatile of the two Flamels. She was passionate, and as devoted to her husband as she was to her craft. That knowledge caused a knot of unease to form in his stomach.

"Perenelle," He began. He stopped to collect his thoughts, knowing instinctively that this could very well be the last time he saw her. "Revenge will not lead to happiness," he finished. He didn't know what else to say. He had never thought himself to be good with words of comfort despite the claims of his students. Still, he had already lost one good friend that night and had no desire to lose another to that madness of the soul.

"I don't want happiness, Albus," Perenelle seethed as if the word was an insult. "I will die without the stone, and I am at peace with that, but I will see his murderer dead before I take my rest. Sard! I will not let this go unpunished, Dumbledore! I'll tear the whole of Qatar apart if I have to to find that rantallion Jamal Amir!," Perenelle growled and jerked back from the flames. The call ended abruptly, the fire roaring up and over the grate. A shadow moved behind a shelf in the office.

Albus cursed, rocking backwards from the flames with a fistful of robes clenched in one hand. He cursed again as he dragged himself away. He should have tried harder, he thought before he could squash the tide of regrets that came from 'what ifs'. His old bones protested as he moved to unlock his pensieve. He selected a bottle and pulled a copy of the night's memory from his mind. The white vine of thought floated on the edge of his wands extraction spell before he carefully stored it away. He pulled out four similar crystal vials from the cabinet shelf and tipped one into the basin.

It was an old memory, one of his earliest as a young man estranged from his family. He had left Britain after the fight with his brother - after Arianna. He had been an ambitious youth, despite his circumstances, too curious for the small world he was born into. The alchemy apprenticeship with Nicholas Flamel was an escape as much as it was an adventure. He had been exchanging letters with the researcher while in Hogwarts and was eager to join him in Paris for further study. He had thrived under his tutelage, spent years learning all the skills he had to teach. Things had been simple then. They were some of his most precious memories.

**1992 June**

"Here," Alana shifted the young Ravenclaw's stiff arm into a more relaxed position and directed his wrist into the spell's correct motion. "Use your wrist, not your arm."

The boy tried again but the disarming spell again but it only fizzled out a few metres away. "It's still not working," He complained to the witch who had moved on to help one of his second-year classmates with her history paper. The fourth-year Alana had taken to running open tutorials for the younger Ravenclaws on Thursdays, and he wasn't about to turn down free help.

"Are you focusing on the spell's purpose or just saying the incantation?" She asked and his face twisting in confusion was all the answer she needed. "Consider the incantation: Expeliarmus. It is Latin like most spells, a good language to ground our thoughts because it also grounds our English language. 'Ex' means 'out', 'pellere' means 'to drive', and 'arma' or 'armus' refers to a weapon attached to the arm. Put it together, and you have 'to drive out weapon' which is precisely what the spell does. Now suppose that is true, what must you consider when casting the spell?"

"The weapon?" He replied hesitantly.

Alana smiled encouragingly, a rather unfamiliar action. "Yes, and one other thing."

"Where you want to drive it out to," He answered, more sure this time.

"Excellent, now try again with those thoughts in mind. The wand is a weapon capable of harming someone, and it must be driven out from their hand and into your own." Alana's instructions were followed by a more successful attempt but an overpowered one. Thus, she began a short lesson on power volume control involving multiple lumos demonstrations.

The tutorial lasted another hour before Alana finally retired from the library. Farrel met her outside the doorway like clockwork, ready to accompany her to his claimed music room.

"Get anyone new today?" He asked, always curious about the girl's daytime activities. It was interesting to watch her so effortlessly pull students under her wing with just a smile and helping hand. He had even caught a snake hovering on the edges of her study group the week before.

"No one new. Cassie and Erik showed up again, though. I think they might become regulars." She made a thoughtful expression. "Also, a muggle-born came and asked me about the Olde ways and Wiccan tradition," She paused, "He seemed quite genuine in his interest despite being uninitiated in the mysteries. I was thinking of lending him some of my notes."

Alana had quickly learnt the difference between those who observed the Olde ways and those who were initiated in its mysteries. She had placed herself on the path into the latter group unintentionally with her first Samhain ritual. The first step to initiation was pledging oneself to one of the Olde deities and taking up a second name to devote to that being. She had once been Alexis Crevan, and that name belonged to Death. Studying the mysteries seemed to be inevitable with her tie to Death, so she'd chosen to just go with it (pushover).

There were milestones along the path from initiate to acolyte, a lot of them ritualistic in nature. A living sacrifice was one such marker along with the binding of a familiar. Very few completed all of the trials during their lifetime, so experience was the main determinant of the respect a person would receive from their fellow initiates. Some individuals were seen as naturally inclined to the mysteries of the Olde Ways: necromancers, element manipulators, illusionists, and seers. They received the utmost respect and admiration for both their skill and their knowledge. Much of the Olde Ways, however, had been made illegal in Britain. Those who practised the faith openly had been forced to move or learn to keep their tongues silent on the matter.

The Olde Ways were not quite Wiccan, not quite Hellenistic, and not quite Celtic though they held components of each and celebrated their festivals. The beliefs were centred around Mother Magic, the Earth mother who was some recognised as the Mother Goddess, Gaia, Danu, Dao, or Atum. From Danu came the Tuatha de Dannan or the Tuath Dé, the tribe of gods, who through many great battles, had branched across the world. The Tuath Dé were described as refined musicians, skilled craftspeople, and accomplished warriors in the myths that travelled the Earth. It was said that in ancient Ireland, the divine Tuath Dé had beseeched the Goddess Danu to create a test to select leaders among their worshipers. These tests became the foundation of the Olde Ways.

There were legends of those who had passed all of the steps, 'Lords of magic' they were called. The myths were different wherever you went. In some cultures, the 'Lords of magic' were gods in their own right, demi-gods, prophets, saints, and heroes. Some believed the Tuath Dé to be immortal wizards while Alana preferred the story of high ranking Fae who had left the mortal realm for the Otherworld, Tír na nÓg. With time, even the title 'Lord of magic' had changed in its meaning, and since its creation, many have falsely claimed it.

"Alana," Farrell's ghost spoke, breaking the witch from her thoughts. He moved to hover beside her as she closed the music room door behind them. "I heard an interesting conversation last night."


	39. 37) The Bazaar

**1992 June**

The train left Hogwarts on June 20, its red and black, polished exterior gleaming as it slid into the King's Cross station. A week had passed since the death of Nicholas Flamel, and Alana had been far from idle. She had followed up on the leads Farrell had given her, his memory blessedly unscathed by his death. The Curse of Providence, Jamal Amir, Qatar; all of these words now held meaning to her. They also made her more aware of the stone in her possession.

It hadn't been destroyed.

Either Perenelle had lied, or Nicholas Flamel had been keeping secrets.

There was only one way to find out, so she packed her belongings and ordered a plane ticket to Doha International Airport, Qatar. Muggle travel was an unpleasant experience but one more convenient for where she was headed, the Qatari Bazaar.

Her suitcase was deceptively light, extended inside and filled with gear. The galleons, she'd been forced to sell her belongings to gain, and had parted with a large portion of her acquisitions from Romania to fund her trip. She was keenly aware that she would need to take some jobs that holiday if she wanted to avoid bankruptcy. Her accounts weren't in deficit yet, but her spending in that past year didn't inspire confidence.

Galleons were an internationally recognised currency in the magical world, containing gold as they did. Alana would have liked to have some jewels to bargain with but had no such fortune.

Anyone who was anyone knew of the fearsome reputation of the Qatari Bazaar. Qatar was home to the largest international black market in the world, welcoming any and all magical creatures. Knockturn Alley could never hope to compare to the city that was the Bazaar. Politicians, businessmen and entrepreneurs thrived in even its dustiest streets. Fortune and reputation were the trade of the city. That said, the place was naturally a vipers den for outlaws. Slave traders, human traffickers, assassins, thieves, rapists, and fraudsters alike. If it had a name, the market would have it.

Magically, Qatar was a mafia state. That is to say, the government was tied with organised crime. The sprawling city was split into districts, each protected and monitored by some criminal body or vicious family. A few areas were exceptions to this rule, but they were few and far between. For all its apparent dangers, the city was not without order. As long as one kept their head down and their weapons close at hand, the market was perfectly safe. As the phrase went; out of sight, out of mind.

When the lithe witch finally caught her first glimpse of the city, she had to pause a moment to take it all in. She had half expected a concrete jungle like New York City but with magic. She was extremely glad she was wrong. The city was a labyrinth, a sprawling mass of earthen rectangles, domes, triangles, and other strange shapes that slid together like the pieces of a puzzle. The streets varied depending on where one looked from broad cobblestone roads to narrow paths of beaten-down earth. Surrounding the districts was a network of wards, shifting and expanding as though they were the lungs of a living beast. They left the air heady with magic and made Alana's fingers tingle delightfully in the heat of the morning sun.

She could easily see why so many chose to never leave the place.

The streets were teeming with life, early as it was. Stalls were popped up on every available street corner, and the main square was packed with shaded stands advertising their wares. Alana poked around curiously, attracting a few suspicious looks from stallholders who had grown accustomed to thieves. Witches, wizards and all manner of other species passed her as she explored.

A large red and gold tent caught her eye, and she entered the store to find the inside magically expanded. The woman minding the shop was on her before she could so much as examine its wares. Speaking in rapid Arabic, the owner dug sharp fingernails in her arms and gestured towards the ceiling - and what a ceiling it was. Silks and rugs were draped across metal poles, their intricate patterns fully displayed for her admiration. There were thousands of them in silver, gold, blood red, and all manner of colours. Each bore a uniquely patterned border with tassels twitching in each corner in the heat. Alana was sure her face was awestruck but couldn't tell with the polyjuice potion having relaxed her muscles. She had never seen flying carpets before.

After coming to the realisation that flying carpets were expensive and not allowed in the city, she reluctantly dragged herself away. There were some other owners that managed to lure her in, she would shamefully admit. Although, in her defence, they were far more experienced in their jobs than ordinary salesmen. A brightly dressed shaman painting terracotta dolls and clay golems had her transfixed for some time. Then there was the barefoot, tattooed florist with snakes for hair and ivy growing under her skin. Ritual daggers and an ancient-looking tome on earth magics passed under her nose, but she restrained herself. The only thing worse than being on a budget was being on a self-imposed budget. She would probably cry over her losses later.

Shopping aside, Alana made considerable progress in her investigation of the city. She did have priorities and a purpose to her visit, after all. The polyjuiced witch made friends in three taverns before settling down in an inn for the evening. The next day, she repeated the routine. The names Perenelle Flamel and Jamal Amir floated in the back of her head as she avoided the shadows lurking in quiet alleyways. It wouldn't do to get lost in a place like this.

She got her first tip three days into her visit. A young faun by the name of Giles let slip the name Amir after a rough night of entertaining at the nearby brothel. It was the name of a water demon in control of one of the city districts closest to the Persian Gulf. The locals called him Šeytān Ìl-bahār", Arabic for "devil of the sea". He had a monopoly on the pearl trade in Qatar, and an impressive number of connections in the mineral market. He rarely went out, except to conduct business and even then, not without a fully-armed guard. Perenelle certainly knew how to pick a difficult target.

Satisfied that Perenelle wouldn't be able to kill her target without her noticing, Alana was finally able to relax her investigation. Rushing such delicate matters was a sure way to attract unwanted attention.

The next day, she went looking for a job.

Now, don't get her wrong, money is very much an object to her, but that was not the reason for her search. Perenelle wanted someone dead, someone very powerful, and someone who would undoubtedly have enemies in Qatar. As they say, 'the enemy of an enemy is a friend'. Perenelle would need resources, if not allies, to get close to Amir.

Following a suggestion from one tavern keeper's son, she moved out of the central shopping district and east towards Bedlam. No really, that was the district's name, courtesy of the Orien'bedlam family.

The main feature of the district became obvious to anyone who looked at it. An oval amphitheatre about the size of most modern stadiums was the district's epicentre. Without the silencing wards built into the structure, Alana was sure she would have heard the screams of contestants and spectators from the other side of the city. As it was, all she heard was the mutterings of the crowd waiting to enter the building. Tickets were pricey, but she was eager to see what sort of fighters they had. It would also, hopefully, give her some indication of where the money was in Qatar. Gambling on fights was half of the amphitheatre's appeal after all.

When she did get in, she was greeted with the sight of an alligator headed man swinging a decapitated head around by its hair. Blood was smeared across the male's humanoid chest, and it dripped down to his loincloth. The grin that cut through Alana's features scared even herself. A few minutes after, she realised with some disappointment that the head was only a fleshy mask and not the real thing.

The crowds in the stands were rowdy as one would expect with such entertainment. The betting counters weren't any better, and she had to shove a few less-abled bodies out of her way to get a comfortable spot to observe it and the arena. The theatre had ample rows of stands for spectators. Below them were sectioned areas, the top being an upper lounge reserved for restaurants and kiosks, and the ones below holding lounges, offices and shops respectively.

A shofar was blown, the small horn's sound magnified with the aid of magic. A new round of battles would soon begin. Alana watched, transfixed as the arena floor shifted. The originally water-filled battlefield was drained to reveal a sandy desert. From the western corner, she could see grass sprouting from the earth. They spread like a wave across the surface until it was a sea of green. Soon after, the short seedlings lengthened into yellow hard grass, the type native to tropical Africa.

Iron gates set into the arena walls were lifted to reveal the next competitors to step into the arena. A large chimaera revealed itself first. It was the size of a small car with a bull's head, a lion's torso, bat-like wings, and a curved scorpion tale. An acromantula crawled out of another gate, and another released a Macedonian balverine. The last held a small boy and a woman, both slaves judging from the scars on their wrists.

Interest piqued, Alana leaned forward to watch the massacre unfold.

The balverine was the first to realise it wasn't alone. It lifted its doglike muzzle to the air and inhaled the scent from where it stood hunched on grey, leather-skinned hind legs. It moved on all fours, its sinewy body leaping with precision made for hunting in dense forests, not open plains, but it still found its prey. A howl was the only warning before it threw itself onto the chimaera. There was an unholy screech from the chimaera before it was twisting to pin the balverine. It brought its heavy paws down but not before the balverine tore its own poisoned nails across its side. A cut from a balverine was fatal to humans but did nothing to halt the chimaera's assault.

On the other side of the arena, the acromantula was attempting to scale the arena walls. The giant spider was cursing humanity in English as he did this, which made it particularly difficult to take him seriously. The rings of wards outlining the top of the walls made climbing them a pointless endeavour as the spider soon discovered. The woman was moving towards the spider, the boy squirming in her grasp.

"Enjoying yourself?" A roguish voice interrupted Alana's observation. Her head twisted sideways to find the speaker. It was a scarred, brown-haired wizard with coal eyes and a dragonhide jacket.

"Raoul," She greeted, half surprised and half suspicious to see the man. He gave her a grin like a cat that got the cream.

"Thought that was you, little bird. Those polyjuice potions don't do much when you're magical auras out," He explained with a nod to her disguise.

"I'll start worrying when I meet someone other than you who can recognise a person on magical aura alone," She muttered. She masked her surprise with her annoyance. Physical auras she could understand, they were all unfailingly unique, but the only difference she saw in magical auras were core alignments and preferred magical practices. If Raoul could truly differentiate them, he was a freak of nature as far as she was concerned. Raoul was eyeing her speculatively, and she arched an eyebrow in question.

"You still haven't answered my question," He smirked, no doubt sensing her surprise. Call it a sixth sense, or else the man was really just that good.

Alana turned her gaze back to the scene in consideration. The seven-year-old boy was ripping into the throat of the woman with his bare teeth. Blood was spilling out of the wound like a drinking fountain. The female, screaming, attempted to throw the child to the acromantula.

"It's rather entertaining," She commented lightly.

"The Tuesday Hunt only usually involves slaves and beats. I think you'll enjoy the afternoon fighting pits much more. Betting is usually a lot higher on such events, and the fighters earn a significant amount. There is a registration fee for those without membership, but should you feel inclined to partake…"

Alana fixed her darkened eyes on the man. She could smell the ulterior motive like blood from a wounded prey. "Of what interest is such a thing to you?" She questioned.

"Consider it a business favour. I need a puppet to dance for me."

The witch arched her back before settling down. "We split the gains 80:20 by contract. If I feel uncomfortable, I'm backing out, puppet or not." Her tone was cold and clinical.

"You, back out? Seems that school of yours has managed to expand your vocabulary," He crowed mockingly.

"How many times do I have to tell you I'm not suicidal before you believe me, old man?"

**1992 June**

The fighting pits were indeed a more interesting event than the Tuesday Hunt. She was decked out for combat with the silhouette of a crow marked into an armband. Raoul's calling card in international waters had always amused her. He was Corvus Corone, the Crow of Europe. It made the nickname he had once given her make much more sense. He had a thing for birdwatching.

He signed Alana up under his own name, eliminating any worries she might have had with people coming after her. Sparrow was significantly less experienced and well known internationally than a lot of Raoul's other contacts. Her connection to Raoul would be unknown and difficult to guess, so it was extremely likely she'd be recognised. She would be observed as an insignificant pawn and nothing more. It. If she was a little too fast with her blade, people would admire her skill or envy Raoul, but overall, would be more likely to try and buy her off than outright murder her. That suited her needs just fine.

Her polyjuice wore off after an hour, and she switched to a full black mask with one-way runes, a purchase made by Raoul after she agreed. Under it, she wore her usual Sparrow half mask for its heat control and air filtering charms. Charmed clothing was allowed so long as the charms weren't combative. The first portion of fights was restricted to a single, nonmagical weapon only. Alana was given a numbered card and shuffled into a cavernous waiting room set below the amphitheatre itself.

Her first fight was with an oni. Oni were a race of Japanese yōkai, not to be confused with trolls and ogres despite the similarities in their appearance. The one she faced was two metres tall with bright red skin and six horns growing from its head. Its body was a hulking mass of muscle with a full head of white hair, pointed ears and glowing orange eyes. To say the iron kanabo club it gripped was unintimidating would be a lie.

She won eventually by wearing him down. She dodged and rolled, weaving between the great strikes of the club to slide a single silver blade against its taut skin. Ordinarily, it wouldn't have cut, but the silver was of good quality, highly conductive, and she possessed enough control to direct her magic into the tool. When the oni fell, he was bleeding from multiple lacerations across his stomach, chest, arms, and even legs. The sight of scarlet blood on vivid red was peculiar, more so when the stains showed clearly again the tiger pelt loincloth.

Her next match was against a minotaur with a rather ferocious temper. The third was against a golem. She hadn't realised they were legitimate contestants, but upon reflection, it made odd sense. They were technically living as spirits encased in earth. They may not have had a magical core of their own, but they were still able to function in their shell after being summoned and bound to it. The golem she fought looked like an iron robot, obviously built with combat in mind.

Once the battle began, she dropped in a crouch to examine the creation. It had no such inclination to wait and went straight for an attack. Its fits dug a deep hole into the ground where she once was. She kicked it squarely in the chest, but that proved to be ineffective. The strengthening runes built into its metal skin were a blatant flaunting of the loophole in the rules regarding combative magic on clothes. She found the runes to be an eyesore. Channelling her magic into her left palm, she switched to her martial arts form easily and twisted through the golem's attacks. As soon as she saw the opening, she let her palm move, hitting it straight in the chest with a burst of magic that scrambled its rune systems for the moment it took for her to redirect her magic and rip her knife through its chest.

The metal gave way under her blade until it met resistance. A molten core, the seal binding the spirit to the object sent the magic in her dagger reeling back into her chest, and she coughed blood. The golem was moving again and had wrapped its arms around her body in an attempt to crush her. She growled and summoned Aquarius with her hand still in the golem. He materialised at her hand and let out a wave of stored magic twice as much as what she had been able to put in her knife. It tore through the protections on the golems seal and exposed it to her knife. One mark of imperfection on the seal and the golem slumped. Aquarius was unsummoned, and she removed her hand from the metal body with a wince. There was a ragged cut down her arm where it had pressed against the edge of the metal. She was sure a rib was broken as well but was otherwise unscathed.

She was healed by a child, a very small child with bare feet, silver eyes and a crown laurel woven into his golden hair. Raoul looked faintly amused as she unabashedly gazed in wonder at the boy. He couldn't have been older than eight, yet he'd healed her cut seamlessly and far quicker than any healer she'd seen. She wondered if he was an acquisition of Raoul's, another 'Sparrow' he'd locked his eyes on in some backwater village. Then, she heard the man call the boy 'Dove' and had to restrain her hysterical laughter. The world was a strange place without Raoul in it.


End file.
